Old Life New
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, AU. Daryl's missed out on a lot over the past thirty-five years, but now he's ready to get back to it and pick right back up where he left off with the love of his life.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So this is going to be a short story (about 11 chapters as I have it planned out right now). It's Carol and Daryl and it's just a part of their life together. It's AU and the characters are aged up for the sake of the story. I don't think that there's anything here you'll need to be warned about, but I'll put warnings in the ANs if I think there's anything in a chapter that you might need to prepare for.**

 **Of course, this chapter is just getting us started and setting the scene.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl turned the radio down as he pulled the truck, for the last time, into the lot. He parked it and gathered up the bags that held everything that he'd collected in the truck over the years and forgotten to take out. The last thing he did, before he left the rig, was take the pictures off the dash that had yellowed and faded from years of exposure to sunlight. Three small children falling over each other in front of a Christmas tree looked back at him from one photo. His own face, much changed by the years, and the face of his wife looked back at him from the other. That was their first nice picture taken together. It was one of few in which they were both actually together. They'd been married that day, though nothing in the picture would have given it away. She hadn't worn white and he hadn't worn a tux, but the wedding had been just as official as any other he supposed had ever been performed.

Half afraid the pictures would disintegrate from age, Daryl tucked them carefully into one of the bags and got out the truck. Jane would handle everything from here—he'd already talked to her—so he put the keys to the truck under the driver's side front tire as he'd been instructed to do and he walked out of the lot. He pulled the gate closed behind him and secured the padlock.

It was late.

 _Daryl was late_.

He was always late for everything except the drops he had to make.

He was late to holidays and gatherings—if he ever made it at all. He was late nearly every time he returned home from a run. He'd been late to his wedding and nearly every date he'd ever taken Carol on in all the time they'd been together.

 _He was late to his life._

But tonight, things were going to change. After 35 years of driving—taking every single job that he could get and making some runs under the radar and off the books—and saving every single penny he could, Daryl was hanging up his keys for the last time. He was leaving the open road and the strain of deadlines to meet, and he was going to sit back and take life slowly and as it came.

He was going back to his life.

It was late summer and the air had that summer's end quality to it. It was damp like a blanket and heavy, but every now and again there was a hint of something like the promise of a cool autumn wind that hadn't quite gotten up the strength to blow yet. The _smell_ of the coming autumn was in the air.

Daryl's old pickup, the one truck that he rarely ever drove, was parked on the property. He got in, cranked it, and thanked whoever was in charge of such trivial things that the engine came to life. He hated those nights when he had to call and rouse Carol out of her sleep to come and pick him up. It had been worse, even, when the children were little and she would come, three fussy children in their pajamas in tow, to rescue him. He pulled out of the lot and cast one glance back, in the rearview mirror, to say "goodbye" to a truck that had almost felt like another home to him.

It was the end of an era, he thought to himself, but it was the start of a new one. And he was more excited about the start than he was saddened by the passing.

Normally, if he'd gotten in at this hour, he'd have stopped at the Juke Joint and gotten a drink. The bar was open all night, just off the highway, even if there was never more than ten cars there after two or three in the morning. Daryl knew that those ten cars, though, brought in most of the revenue that the place probably made all year. Coming off a four day, like he was doing, Daryl usually needed a beer or two to counteract all the caffeine that he'd stored in his system to keep him running and to keep the blacktop from morphing into some creature straight out of his nightmares. Tonight, though, he was anxious to get home. He was anxious enough to get home that he couldn't be bothered to stop even for a half an hour to mix with the locals and unwind.

His _home_ was waiting for him—as perfect as if it was designed for him and his happiness. His _wife_ was waiting for him—forever doting and the creator and craftswoman of that perfect home. And his _life_ was waiting for him—too long ignored in the quest to provide for the life he was ignoring and the future he was securing.

This time, when he got to his home and closed his eyes, he knew he wouldn't be leaving it again. He wouldn't be counting days and ticking off hours until the next job. He wouldn't be hitting the road ever again.

At least, he wouldn't be hitting it without Carol and their life in tow.

Thirty-five years was a long time to step away from life. It left a lot of regrets about a lot of time lost and lot of opportunity missed. But Daryl and Carol were going to make the best of what they had left. They were going to make up for all that lost time. They'd pick up right where they left off. On one of his last short stops in, Daryl had purchased an RV for them. It wasn't the top of the line, but it was nice and it was reliable. It would pull Carol's car easily. The two of them were going to see America together, one short trip at a time.

This driving was going to be driving that Daryl enjoyed.

When Daryl got to the house, the porch light was on. A few other lights burned throughout the house and he wondered if Carol had waited up for him. She wasn't working now. She'd retired three months before from her job and her schedule had changed a little, but she was still mostly an early to bed and early to rise kind of person. Daryl parked his truck, gathered up his belongings, and carried them inside. The light over the stove was burning and a lamp in the living room lit his way through there. In the bedroom, though, he found that Carol was asleep.

She wouldn't have known when to expect him. Not really. He'd called her on his way in, but that was just to say that there'd been a wreck and he didn't know how long he'd be caught on the interstate. Daryl put his things down as quietly as he could and slipped into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him so that he could shower without bothering Carol. He knew, though, that the little noises he made at night wouldn't wake Carol. For her, the sounds of him slipping in late and readying for bed had become the background noises to her dreams.

Clean and still somewhat awake from the coffee he'd guzzled earlier, Daryl went back into the kitchen. In the microwave he found dinner served out on a plate. He reheated it and ate it standing at the bar. In the refrigerator he found a six pack of beer. Carol didn't drink beer, or at least she hardly ever drank it, but she'd have bought it for him. Whenever he got home there were always things that she got just for him. They were things that said "welcome home" in her own little way.

The only time that Daryl could ever remember coming home from a run and not finding Carol's little "touches" all over the place was the time that he'd come home for the birth of their second son, and final child, Dallas. In hindsight he shouldn't have taken that run at all, but he'd thought he'd make it back in time. He'd thought that Carol would be fine and Dallas would hold out a little longer—after all, Sophia had been late and so had Matthew. But Dallas had other plans. Daryl had gotten the call and he'd made the best time he could, but the distance from Texas to Georgia wasn't made any shorter because his wife was in labor. He'd gotten home just in time to discover, from his brother who'd been waiting on him, that his sister-in-law had kept Carol company during the delivery, his son was five hours old, and Carol had named the boy Dallas as a tribute to where he'd been when she'd realized that he wasn't making it home. Some days, Daryl still felt like he had a lot of making up to do for that one—even if Dallas was twenty-nine and doing well for himself.

All his kids were doing well for themselves. And, thankfully, they never held it against Daryl that he was largely absent from most of their family pictures. It wasn't the amount of time that counted, Carol had assured him, but rather it was the quality of the time that he'd spent with them. Daryl just had to hope that it was enough, somehow.

Daryl nursed one of the beers at the kitchen table and looked through the information that he'd asked Carol to print out for him. She'd left it there for him to look over, probably anticipating that he wouldn't want to sleep right away. They'd rented a camping slot at the beach. It would be just the two of them for two weeks in their RV. It was all set. All they had to do was load up, hook up the car, and they were on the way.

Annual physicals had given them both a clean bill of health, and their retirement fund and a few good investments gave them the financial security that they'd need for what was left of their lives. Now they just had to live it.

And they were starting at the beach because it had been years since they'd been. If Daryl remembered correctly, they hadn't been since Dallas was born. The only time they'd ever taken him to the beach, at least as far as Daryl could recall, he'd still been tucked safely away inside his mother.

The beach was the first place that Carol had said she wanted to go—so that's where they were going.

Daryl drained the last swallow out of his beer, threw the bottle away, and put his plate in the sink. Then he made his way to the bedroom, turning off every light he could find burning as he went, and slipped under the cover. He groaned to himself over the feeling of the bed, like a cloud in comparison to the bed in his truck, and he smiled when he heard the ruffle of sheets that told him that Carol—who hadn't woke to anything else—woke to that sound.

In the darkness, she found her way over to him, as she had a hundred times before, and he adjusted his body so that she could lie comfortably beside him.

"Good trip?" She asked.

Daryl hummed at her.

"Nothing happened?" She asked.

"No," Daryl said. "Good supper. I like that sauce."

"I thought I'd try it," Carol said.

"Good," Daryl confirmed. "Thanks for printing that stuff out."

"Was it everything you needed?" Carol asked.

"It'll be good," Daryl said. "Just confirms I already paid for the slot."

"How long do we have it?" Carol asked.

"Two weeks," Daryl said. "Go back to sleep. Leaving out tomorrow."

"You shouldn't drive tomorrow," Carol said. "You'll be tired."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'ma be just fine," he said. "You'll be there to keep me awake. Love you. Sleep now."

"Love you too," Carol said quietly, her voice fading out like she'd immediately taken his suggestion and was practically asleep before the words could make their escape from her lips.

Daryl patted her, rubbed his hand over what he could reach of her body, and closed his eyes. He wasn't really tired. He felt more like a kid on the night before Christmas than he felt like a sixty-two year old man, but he knew he needed to sleep. Carol needed her rest and he needed his too. The morning was bringing a life full of little things in their direction, and that, for Daryl, was a big thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Here we go, the second chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl stretched as he was waking and instinctively closed his arms around his pillow and pulled it tighter under his head. Eyes closed, he let his mind begin to take in his surroundings. He was home. The smells around him were clean and fresh—Carol had washed the sheets for his homecoming. There was a hint of the shampoo that she used. There was a hint of the light floral scent of the moisturizer that she coated her face in every night. Daryl breathed in the scent deeply and sunk down into the mattress a little more, mindfully observing its softness and the feeling of being wrapped in the blankets that she'd put back over him when she'd gotten up because she always stole all of them throughout the night.

Carol was up, but she was almost quiet enough to fool him. When he forced his ears to listen for her sounds, he could hear them, but they weren't loud enough to call his attention. Every now and again he heard a step—her steps were heavier now than they once were. It wasn't that she was heavier, really, but that she walked with more determination than she once had. She took up, in a manner entirely unrelated to her size, more room in the world than she had when he'd first married her.

Daryl lie there in bed, eyes closed, and listened as she came a few times into the bedroom. He heard a drawer slide open and closed. He made the mental note that he should check the runner on the drawer because it sounded off. It sounded like it was difficult for Carol to open. Daryl heard her open the closet door and he heard the metallic scrape of a hanger on the bar. He heard the closet door close again. He heard the hiss of a zipper and he heard Carol leave the bedroom again, entirely unaware that he was awake and taking note of her morning flutter.

When he heard the clatter of pans being moved around in the kitchen, Daryl decided it was time to leave the comfort of the bed. Carol would make coffee. She would make breakfast. If he wasn't out of bed, she would bring it to him. She wouldn't complain about it and, if he said that she didn't have to do it, she would insist that he'd worked hard—that he was tired from driving and deserved to relax. She wouldn't point out the fact that she, too, worked hard even if he wasn't there to see it. Until she retired, she worked as a law secretary. She birthed and raised three children from infancy to adulthood with less of Daryl's help than he wished she'd have had. Some days, Daryl knew that the only way she was able to handle both was having a boss that understood that she'd put in extra hours where she could just to get a little time off here or there to handle that trip to the emergency room because Sophia broke her arm when she fell off the playground equipment or that parent-teacher conference that needed to be handled in person instead of over the phone.

No matter what else she had to do, though, she still managed to make things nice for Daryl on the days when he was home.

Today, though, things were going to change, at least a little. He wasn't on a break. He wasn't supposed to be resting for the next run. He was back, and he was back for good. Today, she wasn't going to serve him breakfast. Even if she refused to let him in her kitchen, always saying he made a bigger mess than was necessary, he was at least going to help her.

Daryl got out of bed and made his first trip to the bathroom for the morning. He doused his face with cool water and brushed his teeth. He glanced in the mirror and scratched at his beard, still undecided if he was going to shave it off or commit to growing it into something more impressive than the current scruff that he was wearing.

And then he made his way to the kitchen.

At the stove, Carol stood making a king's breakfast. She'd spent so long cooking for so many people that old habits just didn't die. She never prepared just enough food for the two of them, and Daryl knew it was worse when she was on her own. He didn't want to imagine how long she spent eating bits and pieces of the same meal because she'd made enough for herself and at least three other people.

She was in sock feet. The cold of the bare floor made her feet cramp. She was wearing an oversized shirt that he brought her from California when he'd gone there one time. It was one of the places that she wanted to go, but the shirt had been the closest she'd gotten to it so far. Daryl was going to remedy that. Her hair stuck up in every direction and would stay that way until she finally went to the bathroom, wet it down, and tried to suggest to the short curls which directions she thought they should go in.

Daryl walked up behind her, as he'd done so many times in his life, and wrapped his arms around her. She stopped her activity, just for a moment, and Daryl kissed the side of her neck. She shivered and laughed quietly.

"Your beard tickles," she said. Daryl smiled and purposefully rubbed his chin against her neck so that she squirmed against him.

"I was thinking about growing it out," Daryl said. "You know—a real beard."

"I think you should think about it again," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You're saying you wouldn't love me no more if I had one of them full beards? Down to my ankles or something?" Daryl asked.

He moved away to free her up to continue her cooking. He'd offer to help serve, but he already knew that he'd be refused if he offered to help cook. Instead, he decided to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"You can grow your beard down to your ankles," Carol said. "If that's what you want to do. But as long as we're just—letting it all grow? Don't be surprised if I toss _all_ the razors in the trash."

Daryl laughed to himself. He knew exactly what that was in reference too. He remembered well, too, the time that they'd had a discussion about their preferences. He'd surprised Carol. He'd taken a series of runs in a number of different directions—picking up where he'd just dropped off—that made it easier for him to do his rest hours on the road rather than try to come home for a while. The money offered was good, so he'd felt like he couldn't turn it down, and he'd gotten her "permission" to be gone until the jobs were done with a week off afterwards as compensation for the strain. It had all gone well. It had gone perfectly, in fact, and he'd realized that one of the runs took him in the right direction and gave him a little time to spare—just enough to swing by for an impromptu romantic night with the woman that he loved. He didn't tell her he was coming and she would never let him live down the fact that he'd teased her to find that, in his absence, she'd relaxed her grooming routines to the point that he told her he felt like he was vacationing in the sixties.

He hadn't surprised her after that, and she hadn't ever let her routine lapse, at least not when he was around to know it, but it was the source of a number of inside jokes between them.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I'll trim up."

"After breakfast," Carol said. "I don't want it to get cold. Can you put the toast in?"

Daryl hummed. He could do that. He was a master of toast. She'd put out six slices of bread for them, but he decided he was only going to toast four. Carol wasn't going to eat three slices of bread. She'd barely eat one.

"You're up earlier than I thought you'd be," Daryl said.

"You too," Carol said. "I've been up for a while. I've got most of the suitcases packed and I put the food in the RV."

Daryl tasted his coffee and switched out the slices of bread in the toaster when it popped up and offered him the toasted pieces.

"You know we don't have to hurry," Daryl said. "This ain't a race. The curfew for getting there today is like eight tonight. And—this vacation is just the first vacation we're gonna take together. I'm not going back to work in three days, and neither are you."

Carol moved the last of the bacon out of the pan that she was cooking in, turned off the burner, and put the pan on the back burner to cool. She didn't make eye contact with Daryl. She maintained it with the stove if anything. She sucked in a breath and her shoulders sagged a little when she let it out.

"I feel like I don't how to be anything but in a hurry," Carol said. "I don't know how to—not rush. Ever since I retired? I run around here and I do everything that I've got to do and—it's one in the afternoon and I've completed every chore I can think of and even come up with a few more to fill the time."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Because you're efficient," Daryl said. "And because we spent our whole lives running from one place to another and back again to beat the clock. Don't feel natural to do anything else. But starting right now? There's no hurry. We don't have anywhere we gotta be before we're ready to be there. We don't have anything we gotta do until we're ready to do it. We just—slow down. Do it at a comfortable speed."

Carol smiled to herself and finally made eye contact with Daryl. Her smile was beautiful. It always had been. Daryl had always loved it so much that he'd do whatever he had to do—whatever he could—just to try to get it to come out so that he could see it.

"That sounds nice," Carol said, raising her eyebrows at him. "It sounds wonderful. But it sounds like—something I don't know how to do."

Daryl laughed to himself and nodded his head. He plucked the last two pieces of toast out of the toaster when they popped up and put them on the plate on top of the other two.

"First we start with breakfast," Daryl said. "Sitting at the table like normal people. Drink an extra cup of coffee. You can catch me up on what happened last week."

"You're not going to finish the toast?" Carol asked.

"You're really gonna eat that much?" Daryl asked. "Because I see eggs and grits and bacon. And I never seen you eat all that and three or four slices of bread too. Not even when you were eating for two."

Carol shook her head.

"No," she admitted. "I'm not going to eat it."

"Put it back in the bag," Daryl said. "We'll make sandwiches for lunch on the road. Come on. Breakfast. I'll take this to the table, you get your coffee and fix your grits. Then? We'll take a shower. Get dressed. Call the kids and let 'em know that we ain't available unless it's an emergency."

"Call Andrea to let her know that we're leaving," Carol said. "She and Merle are keeping an eye on things."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Call Andrea and Merle," Daryl said. "Then? We'll pack up and we'll hit the road. But today? We don't gotta rush. We got nowhere to be except right the hell where we are."

Carol nodded at him.

"Take everything to the table?" Carol asked. "I'll make your grits too."

Daryl accepted the compromise, since Carol absolutely _couldn't_ let him prepare his own breakfast, and reached around her to grab the plate of eggs. Before he moved, though, he stopped and offered her his lips for a kiss. She smiled at him, hesitated a moment to tease him, and then she pressed her lips to his.

"You're shaving," she said, smirking at him when he pulled away.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Got that. You are too. Gotta break the RV in."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here's another chapter.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The road rolled out underneath the tires of the RV and Daryl steered it along easily. He thought the vehicle drove like a dream. He'd never driven a boat before, but he imagined that it might drive a little like a boat. It responded when it was supposed to respond, but he didn't have to fight it to keep its course either. Even pulling Carol's car behind, which added some length to the already long vehicle, didn't make things difficult.

Daryl had never added up all the hours that he'd spent on the road. At least, he'd never added them up in their entirety—nothing beyond the obligatory calculations required for his log each day. Still, he figured that he'd spent as much of his life driving as he'd spent _not_ driving. Maybe he'd actually spent more time behind the wheel than he'd spent doing everything else he'd ever done combined.

But this driving felt different in every way possible.

He was driving the RV to the destination of their first trip together—at least their first trip _alone_ in a very long time—and the road didn't seem to exhaust him at all even though it was immediately following a run. As he drove, he felt like he was drawing life and energy from the countryside around him instead of being made weary by the black asphalt and the repetition of the yellow and white lines.

Beside him, in the passenger seat, Carol sat with the maps folded on her lap in case she needed to help navigate. She looked out the windshield, straight ahead of her, and a faint smile played on her lips. Daryl caught quick glances of her every time he thought it safe to take his eyes off the road for a second. Like Daryl, the years kept marching forward for Carol. She was sitting on a collection of sixty four of them now—just enough to make her cringe if he mentioned her birthday—but she didn't look like it. She was beautiful. She always had been and time didn't take that away.

Having Carol riding shotgun, too, changed the feeling of the driving experience.

Daryl had often seen truckers at stops who were accompanied by some woman or another. Sometimes the woman riding shotgun for them was their wife. Other times she was some woman they'd picked up at one stop and would likely lose at another. Most of the time, they never told Daryl which was the case, and he didn't ask. Their stories were his to imagine while he scarfed down a burger or chugged an oversized coffee before he hit the road again.

Every time he saw one of those men sitting with their companion, though, no matter how temporary the woman at their side might be, he imagined what it would be like to have Carol with him. He imagined what it would be like to cover the miles with her scattered offerings of conversation to keep him entertained. He wondered what kind of songs she'd pick on the radio and if she'd be enamored of the CB life that sometimes kept them awake when the blackness started to feel like it was hypnotizing them and taking over their minds.

Whenever Daryl travelled to some new location—exotic to him even if it was commonplace to its locals—he imagined Carol there, right beside him, experiencing the "new" right along with him. When he saw a particularly beautiful view—the kind that made him stand in awe of nature— he imagined sharing it with her.

Daryl had seen most of the great country that he called home out of the windshield of a rig. In his imagination, he'd shared every beautiful and amazing sight with Carol. In reality, though, she'd only ever been on short runs with him and those had been rare and only occurred once the children were in high school and, every now again, would find themselves all entertained with friends on the same weekend.

But in Daryl's mind, Carol had been there. She'd always been there—and not just on the other end of a phone call made on a stop.

"You haven't said much," Daryl said, dragging himself purposefully out of his daydreams to engage Carol.

She hummed at him and turned to look at him.

"What?" She asked, offering him a soft smile.

"Haven't said much," Daryl repeated. "What'cha thinkin'?"

She hummed again, but this time it was thoughtfully instead of signaling that she knew she was being addressed but had no idea what she might be being asked to respond to.

"Nothing really," Carol said. "Just—it's nice."

Daryl smiled to himself and nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It is nice. Like having you here."

Carol laughed quietly to herself.

"Well I hope you weren't going to leave me at home on our vacation," she responded. Daryl laughed to himself and allowed her the humor of how she'd taken the statement.

"Not what I meant," he corrected. "Every time I was on the road? I'd get to daydreaming. Something to pass the time. Pass the hours. I'd always think—that you were there with me. Like—you'd be seeing something I was seeing for the first time. You'd be—commenting on the leaves like when I was up in Vermont? You'd be talking about how damn pretty they were and—like you'd just...I don't know. You'd just be there and you'd be seeing everything I saw. You'd be ridin' with me. Every mile of the way."

Carol hummed, but then she fell quiet for a moment. Maybe she was thinking about the leaves changing in Vermont. Maybe she was thinking about all the time they spent together, sharing the close quarters of the truck cab, in Daryl's imagination. It took her a few moments to break her own silence and speak.

"But I wasn't there," Carol said.

"No," Daryl agreed. "You weren't."

"I wasn't ever there," Carol said. "I've never—been to Vermont." She sighed. "I've hardly been out of Georgia. You'd call me from all these places and Matthew would put a couple more pins in the map that he had in his room, but I never saw any of those places. Except on the map, of course. As far as I know? Vermont is purple."

Daryl chewed his lip.

"No," he said. "You weren't there. But—you're always there. In my head, at least. I could see you. Just out the corner of my eye. Just—just like you are now. I wished, a lot of times, that you _were_ there. That we could just—be riding down the road together. Just going wherever it was I had to go and going wherever we wanted with the time I had to spare."

"I was at home," Carol said. "Because there were three kids to get on the bus. And there was an office to get to. There were—soccer games and softball games. There were football games and—that year that Soph did cross-country." Carol sucked in a breath. "There were clothes to wash and lunches to prepare and supper to get on the table. And—every now and again? There was a handsome man who rolled into town just long enough to keep me company for a couple of nights before he rolled back out again. And—he needed a nice place to come to. He needed a home that he could be proud of. One that didn't smell like the cab of a truck."

Daryl chewed his lip as a physical reflection of the work that his mind was doing.

"You never really said you had any interest in going anywhere," he said. "Probably could've made it work. Sometimes, at least. If you'd told me you wanted to go somewhere."

"Someone had to be home base, Daryl," Carol said. "For you. For the kids. With you on the road all the time, I had to be the constant. The kids didn't always know where Daddy was. Not exactly. But they knew where they'd find Mama—probably shoveling clothes into the dryer and asking them what happened to their socks."

Daryl's stomach did a little flip.

When he'd met Carol, she'd been a divorcee. She hadn't been divorced very long. She certainly should have been away from her ex-husband a lot longer than she had been. Sophia had been three and her father had relinquished all rights to her. As far as Daryl knew, Sophia had no memories of the man. In her opinion, though Daryl was technically her adoptive father, he was the only father she'd ever had. He'd done his best to never make a single bit of difference between her and the boys beyond the fact that he'd, more than once, made a big deal about her being "Daddy's little girl," and she was the only of the three that could have a claim to that role.

When they'd married, Daryl had promised Carol the world. He'd promised her things that he knew he couldn't give her and things that she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, would never come true. They were promises spoken out of what he _wanted_ for her, not what he'd ever actually be able to provide.

Some of the promises, though, he'd kept.

He'd promised her that he'd never lay his hands on her, and he never had. At least, he'd never touched her in any way that she didn't want him to touch her. He'd promised her that he'd provide for her—or at the very least do as much as he could to provide for her—and he'd done that. He'd given all he had to bring in what financial security he'd been able to offer them. He'd promised her that he'd never hurt their children and, except for a few accidents that had happened on his watch like Dallas's broken arm, he never had. And Daryl had promised her that he'd never run out of love for her—and that one, above all the others, he knew was true.

Among the promises he hadn't kept, though, was the promise that he'd give her freedom and experiences. Her ex-husband, Ed, had practically tried to keep her locked away. He hadn't trusted her, mostly owing to his own deep-rooted insecurities, and he'd handled that trust by taking away any control she had in her life. He'd kept tabs on her every move and he'd cut her off from everything. He'd done his best to take her out of the world entirely and keep her just for his entertainment.

Daryl had promised to give her that world back.

Daryl hadn't kept her locked away, at least not in the sense that Ed had. He didn't mind that she had a job. He pressed her to make friends and to spend time with them, hoping she wouldn't be lonely while he was gone. He'd always celebrated the relationship she had with his sister-in-law and he'd enjoyed hearing about it every time they had a "family dinner," even when he couldn't be there. But he hadn't given her the world. Not really. He'd kept her locked away at home in a different way than Ed had. He'd kept her under the lock and key of almost sole responsibility.

Carol had been the anchor. She'd been, as she'd called it, home base. She'd been almost a single parent at times and, especially until the kids were old enough to help out, she'd handled most everything at home that needed to be done. The projects she absolutely couldn't handle, she left for Daryl, but even then she seemed to hate to ask him to help. She'd been Daryl's anchor. She' been his beacon. She'd been anything and everything that she could be that meant safety and comfort and happiness. She'd made sure that everything in his life was picture perfect.

She'd been his dream, in more ways than one.

And now, suddenly, he was realizing how hard that might have been for her sometimes.

"You were the best wife I could ask for," Daryl offered.

Carol smiled at him, genuinely.

"And you were the best husband," Carol offered in response. Daryl wasn't so sure it was true.

"Good mother," Daryl offered. "Best."

Carol laughed quietly to herself.

"And you were a good father," Carol said. "The kids always liked you more than they liked me."

"Just because I weren't home but every now and again," Daryl said. "I weren't on their asses all the time. Like someone had to be." Carol just hummed at him. "I'm sorry you didn't get to go nowhere," Daryl said. "Didn't get to—do nothing. See nothing."

Carol laughed to herself again.

"Don't be," she said. "I got—to be at home. I got to watch the children grow up. I was always sorry that you never got to see all the—little day to day things. You missed all the first steps. The first words. The first dates. I felt sorry for you."

"Felt sorry for me too," Daryl said. "But—just 'cause you got the good of one thing don't mean you can't miss getting some of the good of something else."

"It doesn't matter now," Carol said.

Daryl wasn't entirely sure that it didn't matter. At least, some of it mattered to him—and he worried about how much of it mattered to Carol. He wondered about how much there was that she'd never admit.

"You wanted to go to the beach, didn't you?" Daryl asked.

"That's why I asked to go," Carol said. "When you asked me where I wanted to go."

"Where else?" Daryl asked. Carol hummed at him in question and he repeated what he'd asked her. "You know," he added, "where would you want to go? If you could go anywhere? We got nothing but time now. We can go wherever. Anywhere you want."

Carol shrugged her shoulders gently.

"The mountains," she said. "I'd like to see—the leaves change. They say that Tennessee is beautiful in the fall. Maybe—I'd like to see a real snowfall?"

Daryl swallowed and nodded.

"Anything else?" He asked.

"I don't know, Daryl," Carol said. "It doesn't matter. It really doesn't. Anywhere we go? It'll be nice. We'll get to go together. We'll get to—spend some of that time _together_."

Daryl hummed at her, not fully committing to agreeing with her at the moment. Maybe he'd taken her for granted. Maybe she knew that. But Daryl didn't think that Carol was ever going to be the kind to tell him, outright, that's what she felt.

"You think on it," Daryl said. "Just—if you got some place in mind? Or some place comes to mind? You just—just let me know?"

"Of course," Carol said. "How long?"

"What?" Daryl asked.

"How long?" Carol asked. "How long until we get there?"

Daryl glanced at the clock and did a quick calculation in his head.

"Probably just an hour," he said.

"Is it safe for me to walk around?" Carol asked. "Just for a minute? I want to get the steaks out. Make sure they're thawed."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"It's safe," he said. "Go ahead but be quick about it. I'll try to keep from driving like a madman until you're buckled again."

"Well I appreciate that," Carol teased.

"Of course," Daryl responded, "it's mostly because I've seen your life insurance policy and you're worth a whole lot more alive than you are dead."

Carol, who was already out of her seat laughed at him.

"Thank goodness for the little things," she teased.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Here we go, another chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The fire that they made in the pit was crackling and every now and again Daryl leaned up to poke at it with a stick. The action was more to give him something to do than an action born out of any kind of necessity. The fire could have burned out entirely and they'd have been fine, but he enjoyed stirring it to make it blaze just a little more before the flames dropped back to their low height.

Dinner was delicious—of course Daryl thought every dinner was delicious that Carol prepared. She'd marinated the steaks while Daryl had set up the RV and then she'd prepared the side dishes for the meal while he'd grilled the steaks on the small grill that they'd bought to take with them on their travels. They'd eaten at a picnic table near their site and now they were enjoying a few beers while they broke in their new fold out chairs.

The beer was starting to go to Carol's head. Daryl could tell. He could always tell when she'd had just enough to drink that any knots she might have started to loosen a little. She smiled often, but her tipsy smile was a little different. It was a little wider and a little less controlled than her regular smile. Her eyes shined, too, just a little differently when she was feeling the effects of some spirit or another. She giggled over his jokes—and her own too—and every now and again she leaned to the side enough to catch his hand where it rested on the arm of the fold-out chair. She would toy with his fingers, maybe swing his hand in hers in the space between them, and then she'd drop his hand until the next time that she got the urge to touch him again.

And when she drank, Carol got chatty. And her conversations, usually, started to get a little more meandering. They became like spaghetti noodles that twisted around doubled back on themselves several times over, though Daryl never really had a difficult time following her train of thought as she travelled up one way and back down the other, very nearly tripping over herself in the process.

Carol could go for hours without realizing that Daryl hadn't spoken a word. Of course, it didn't bother Daryl. He'd much rather sit and listen to her talk than talk himself.

And tonight, she was filling him in on _everything_. All he had to do was prompt her a little, every now and again, and she told him everything he might have missed in the past thirty or so years—or in the last five at the very least.

"I mean, I just don't think that anyone should pressure them, you know?" Carol said. "That's a very personal decision and—if they're not ready? It's like I told Matt—if you aren't sure you're ready then you and Rebecca should absolutely _wait_. Wait until you know you're ready. Because once there's a baby? Everything's going to change. You know they were talking about going to France. I mean, they've been talking about it for what? For four years now? But I told Matt—if you have a baby, then that means that France probably isn't going to happen. At least, it isn't going to happen for a while."

Daryl tasted his beer. It was growing warm, but he was going to drink it anyway. He wanted grandkids, and he often imagined what kind of grandfather he'd be, but it didn't seem like any of his children were in a rush to have children of their own. He wouldn't dream of pushing them, either, because it was their decision. Being a grandparent was one thing, but being a parent was something else entirely. Besides, Daryl wasn't entirely under the impression that his desire to be an excellent grandfather wasn't at least a little rooted in some of the guilt that he felt about things he'd maybe missed out on in his children's lives.

And he was looking forward, at the moment, to spending some quiet time with Carol—enough to make up for all that he missed over the years—so being a grandfather could wait a little longer.

Until they were ready—whenever that might be.

"Bec and Matt don't need kids until they know they want 'em," Daryl said, agreeing with Carol's sentiments. "Because you right, France? It probably ain't gonna happen. Not after kids. Gonna be plenty of other things. Good things. But they don't need the kids until they're ready to give up whatever they might have to give up."

"That's what I told them," Carol said. "Sophia too. But—I'm not sure I _need_ to tell Sophia."

Daryl chuckled to himself.

Sophia was independent. Even in a relationship, she was still independent. She loved children, but mostly that meant that she loved to dote on other people's children. It was hard to imagine that she'd ever want a brood of her own and, at her age, it was possible that she wouldn't. Still, Daryl knew that people could change, and what they wanted out of life could change. But, just like with Matthew, Daryl wouldn't dream of pushing Sophia toward something like motherhood. Not if she hadn't decided it was something she wanted. Even at thirty-six, he thought she had plenty of time to make up her mind. There wasn't, in his opinion, an age limit on adoption. And it wasn't his job, Carol's job, or anyone else's job to make up Sophia's mind for her.

"Soph might decide she wants kids one day," Daryl said. "'Course, she's just as likely to decide she don't."

"Or never decide one way or another," Carol said.

Daryl hummed.

"At some point, even if she don't say it, she's decided," Daryl pointed out.

"I don't see the whole—grandmother appeal," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Because you ain't one or because you don't see it?" Daryl asked.

Carol hummed.

"Andrea's always saying that being a grandmother's just the most wonderful thing and you've never known anything like it," Carol said. "But—I have three children. I _made_ three human beings with my body and I gave them life and I watched them grow up and become _wonderful_ people. I think it's going to be pretty hard to top that."

Daryl laughed.

"Yeah, but if they your grandkids, you don't gotta keep 'em," Daryl said. "You just have the good parts and you don't have to do the punishing them and telling them how they oughta act because that's not your job anymore."

"You could be right," Carol said. "But—I just don't get the appeal of it."

Daryl reached across the space between them, this time, and caught her fingers in the same way that she'd been catching his before.

"Hold onto that," he said. "That way? You don't feel let down if the most we get out of the grandparenting thing is babysitting Dallas's dog while he's off doing something."

"You don't think of Dixie as our granddaughter?" Carol asked. Daryl could hear the teasing in her voice.

"I know _you_ do," Daryl said. "Sometimes I think you like that damn dog more'n you like me."

"I do like Dixie," Carol said. "But not nearly as much as I like you."

Dixie was a Basset Hound. The dog looked like she was melting and she always had at least the faintest smell of hound, no matter how freshly washed and perfumed she was. Dallas loved the dog and when work took him on trips, he brought her to their house to spend some "quality time" with them. Carol adored the dog. Daryl always wondered if it was because, with him on the road and all the kids finally out of the house, she sometimes got at least little bit lonely.

Daryl drank another swallow from his beer and sucked it off his teeth.

"You want you a dog?" He asked. "Like Dixie?"

"Dixie's too hardheaded to have all the time," Carol said. "I think I'd go crazy if I didn't know that Dallas was coming to get her eventually."

"How about just a dog?" Daryl asked. "You want a dog?"

Carol hummed.

"I hadn't really thought about it," she said. "I mean—I like dogs. But I wouldn't want a big dog."

"Neither," Daryl said. "Would have to be a little dog. We're gonna travel around, it's gotta go with us. Gotta be a dog that wouldn't feel all put out having to spend a lot of time living in the RV."

"You'd want a little dog?" Carol asked.

"If you want one," Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I could hear Merle if we had a little dog," Carol said. "Something small. He'd never let you hear the end of it."

"There's a helluva lot of worse things that Merle ain't never going to let me hear the end of," Daryl said. "Besides, we ain't going to get the dog tonight. Don't have to decide right away. Just—putting it out there. In case you ever did decide you might want one."

As a response to his statement, and maybe even as a thanks for giving his stamp of approval to the idea before she'd even had it, Carol caught his fingers again and twisted them with her own. Daryl sat there a moment, just savoring the feeling of her hand in his, before he broke the silence that fell between them.

"Do you like having Dixie around because—you think, because you might want grandkids? Or you think you like having Dixie around just because you get tired of not having nobody around?" Daryl asked.

Immediately, Daryl wished he could take back the question. It succeeded in wiping the smile off Carol's face entirely. The look of simple contentment that she'd been wearing was gone. She seemed to notice its loss because she quickly tried to put it back on her face, but it was different when it was of her own conscious construction.

"I'm not alone," Carol said. "I have you. I have—the kids. The phone rings just about every day. Andrea and Merle are—close by."

"Having me on the phone and having me when I'm home on a break ain't the same as having me there," Daryl said. "You ever wish—that I'd gotten a job like the one Merle has? That I'd always been there?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders slightly. She pulled her hand away from his and got out of her chair. She walked over to where they'd left the little cooler they'd brought out with them and burrowed herself out another beer. Without asking him if he wanted it, she got one for him too. Carol offered him the beer just as she returned to her seat.

"I wouldn't know, Daryl," Carol said. "I wouldn't know what it's like to have you home all the time. You've—never _been_ home like that. It would be different, but I don't know if—I don't know if different necessarily means _better_."

"So you didn't really wish that I wasn't gone so much?" Daryl asked.

"I didn't really think about it much," Carol said. She shrugged again. "I mean, I thought about it sometimes, but not that much. What good would it have been to think about it? Your job was on the road. You were on the road. I was at home. That's just the way things were. I didn't really spend a lot of time thinking about how they might be different."

"So you weren't never lonely?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself and drank down several swallows of the beer before she licked her lips to catch any drops that might have landed there. She looked at him and tipped her head to the side.

"That's a different question entirely," Carol said.

"That's why I asked it," Daryl said.

Carol shook her head.

"It doesn't matter, right?" She said. "None of it matters. Because it's in the past. You're home now and—you did what you had to do. I did what I had to do. _We_ did what _we_ had to do. We made decisions. The best ones for us. And we lived with them. It's—it's like I told Dallas the other day. When he called to tell me about how he broke up with Lauren. He said that—she wanted to go to Virginia and he just didn't want to go. He's happy where he's at and he doesn't want to change that. And Lauren wants to go to Virginia. It's a good job for her. It's a good opportunity. And I told him that—those are the decisions you have to make. You have to decide what you can live with and what you can't. And you have to be honest about it. Because, eventually, if you can't live with it? It's going to end up being too much. It's going to all fall apart anyway and then you'd have been better off not to have given up something you wanted for something you _hoped_ you _might_ want eventually. But if you can live with it, and you're honest about that to yourself—and to your partner—then you'll make it through just about anything. It's the honesty that matters. And when you asked me—back when we were dating—when you asked me if you being on the road was something I could handle? I was honest. I could handle it. And I did."

"Dallas and Lauren broke up?" Daryl asked.

"About a week ago," Carol said. "Week and a half?"

"He didn't tell me," Daryl said.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"You know Dallas," she said. "He talks about it when he feels like it. You can't make him talk."

"Yeah," Daryl said, laughing to himself. "But still—he didn't feel like talking about it none. Not to me. I didn't know nothing about it."

"You were on the road," Carol said. "Maybe—he didn't want to bother you. I'm sure he'll tell you about it the next time he calls."

Daryl sucked in a breath and nodded his head.

"Yeah," he agreed. He got to his feet and walked over to the fire. He poured what was left of the beer out over the ashes before he picked up the bucket of water and doused anything that was still burning. Then he turned back and offered a hand to Carol. "Tired," he said. "Let's go to bed."

Carol looked at him like she might say something, but then she abandoned whatever thought she had and stretched her hand out to him. He helped her to her feet and, just in case she might need it, he wrapped an arm around her to walk with her back to the RV.

He wasn't sure, at the moment, exactly what he was feeling, but he knew he felt at least a little bit better when Carol leaned her head against his shoulder and somewhat snuggled into him while he helped guide her through the few steps they had to make across the sandy campsite ground.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Here we go, another chapter.**

 **A few things. I changed the rating on the story because of this chapter. I'm not good at knowing what I should rate things and I go for better safe than sorry. That's not to say there's anything too explicit here, or that there will be in the future, but I'm changing the rating just in case someone doesn't agree with me or something comes up in the future.**

 **The other thing I need to say is that this chapter is largely (OK, entirely) a contemplative chapter. If you haven't figured it out, Daryl's feelings are the largest "conflict" of this story. They're what has to be overcome. This chapter focuses on that a bit more and sets us up for the next part.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl could think back on his marriage and tell anyone that asked that it had been perfect, but even as he was saying the words, he'd know they weren't true. There had been more than few rocky spots along the road. The perfection, perhaps, came in the fact that none of those rocky spots had proved impossible to get through. And when he remembered his marriage, like a panoramic photograph clicking through frames in his mind, he tended to leave those rocky spots out unless something specifically drew them to mind.

Ironically, making love to Carol was one of the things that could draw those memories to mind—but it was also one of the things that could remind Daryl that, with enough patience and determination, they somehow always made it past anything that got in their way. Maybe they always would.

Physically the years had changed them both.

The hard and strong body that Daryl remembered from his youth was no longer his in any way but in memory. He was still strong, especially in comparison to some men he knew that were his age, but he wasn't what he'd been thirty years ago. He wasn't even what he'd been ten years ago. Things ached and popped that hadn't been quite as musical in his youth. Mostly gone, as well, were the nights when he and Carol could spend what seemed like countless hours tangled up together and indulging in alternating rounds of sweaty and almost animalistic sex followed by the sweet and soft embraces that reminded them both of how precious they were to each other. Daryl still had a good bit of stamina, and with the help of his doctor and a little blue pill he had a little more than nature gave him, but things didn't seem to go on as long as they once had. Carol, even, seemed a lot less insatiable than she'd once been and she sometimes seemed relieved when he said he'd rather just sleep, if that was OK with her, rather than ticking down the moments before his body would allow them another opportunity at being together.

Carol's body, like Daryl's, had seen a lot of changes. The years and their three children had changed and rearranged things. Her skin was softer now to the touch, at least in Daryl's opinion, and while he liked the changes just as much as he'd liked anything she used to be, it had made for more than one serious discussion between them because Carol seemed to think that he couldn't possibly care for the things that he said he loved about her. She seemed to think that he couldn't find beautiful about her the things that he swore that he did.

She reminded him, as though he were capable of forgetting, that her first husband had scolded her for her body—had punished her for what he saw as her shortcomings—and that had been long before she was as old as she was now. That had been even before Matthew and Dallas had come into the world. It had been before _so much_ had taken its toll on her body.

There were times that Carol still didn't seem to fully believe that Daryl thought that she was beautiful, despite the fact that he'd done everything humanly possible to convince her that she was. As she got older, though, she seemed to believe it more—or at least she denied its possibility less often.

Also, too, there had been times that she'd worried—though she tried to hide it under the name of teasing—that Daryl might find something better out there on the road. She had worried that he might, growing lonely in the cab of his truck with nothing but the road and the radio to keep him company, decide to make a friend of the female persuasion for more than casual conversation over a diner dinner. There had been times that she'd suggested, pain in her voice, that it might even be possible that he would take this woman—this phantom woman that had haunted only Carol's mind—back to his truck and there, in plain sight of the picture of her that she knew he kept on his dash, prove himself to be entirely disloyal.

It had never happened, of course, but there had been a period when Daryl had to combat that fear more often than he might have liked. He couldn't recall, though, ever feeling that Carol might do anything of the like. Even though she was as much out of his sight as he was out of hers, he had never imagined that she might cheat on him. For him, the concept of either of them being with someone else was entirely foreign. They were just supposed to be _together_. That's how it worked.

Because when they were together, Daryl felt like he was _home_.

He was embarrassed to admit that, on more than one occasion, he'd had to apologize to Carol for accidentally causing her harm. Intentionally, he would never hurt her. But when they were together, he sometimes got overwhelmed. He wanted to _consume_ her. He wanted to be as close to her as he could. Even being inside of her, sometimes, didn't feel like being close enough. He enjoyed her scent and her taste. He loved touching her. He liked the sounds that he could elicit from her and the expressions she made when her face twisted up in the odd combination of pleasure and pain that her orgasms seemed to bring her.

Carol was _home_ to Daryl—no matter where they might be.

And making love to Carol was, for Daryl, one of the most incredible feelings that he could imagine feeling, even if he hadn't truly experienced enough in the world to qualify him to say that with absolute certainty.

And that was true even now. Maybe it was truer, now, than it had been when they were younger and everything was newer. Honestly, maybe the feeling of _home_ that Daryl found in Carol had actually _grown_ with the years.

It was also true, though, there was something like a sadness that followed when they'd made love and they were turning in to go to sleep. Daryl didn't know if other people felt it—or even if Carol felt it, because he never told her that it was real for him—but there was always a sadness that followed making love for _him_. Even tonight it was there. Tonight, maybe, it was even worse than it ever had been before. It was different, and the feelings that followed it were different.

Still coming down from the high of an orgasm, Carol had kissed him. She'd said the words he loved to hear from her lips, and she'd closed her eyes. Even with her body next to his, knowing that he wasn't going anywhere and neither was she until the day that one of them died, Daryl immediately felt lonely. He immediately felt like he was losing her—even if he was only losing her for a few hours while she slept.

The feeling was nothing new to Daryl, but it was in those moments that he remembered some of the rocky roads that sex and, really, lack of self-confidence had taken them down in the past.

And, maybe, in his own way, some strange lack of self-confidence was what was bringing Daryl down at the moment.

He lie in bed and watched her sleep for a little while. He watched the rising and falling of her chest. He listened to her breathing and smiled to himself at the faint hints of snoring that would start every now and again. If she rolled into just the right position, the sound would intensify. Sometimes it got loud enough that he would playfully wake her and ask her about her lumber business. Tonight, though, she wasn't in that position. Tonight she was just sleeping peacefully. Her breathing was soft and even. Her eyes, in the lamplight, dance behind her eyelids sometimes, and other times they were still.

And Daryl's _body_ felt satisfied.

He could still feel the lingering vibrations of her touch on his skin—the rough touch that came from grabbing and clawing. From friction. From trying to get from him what she wanted and needed to reach the peak that she was climbing toward. He could still feel her, literally, where her leg was thrown over his and her soft skin was touching his. He could feel the dampness that coated his skin where he hadn't cleaned up—drying slowly—that came from a mix of sweat and every other fluid that the two of them combined were capable of producing or even buying at the drug store for its promised enhancement of what was already an enjoyable experience. In his chest, Daryl's heart was still beating quickly, though it was slowing down, and his lungs were still inhaling and exhaling at a faster pace than the one they'd use once he drifted off to sleep. On his tongue, he could still taste the lingering flavor that was distinctly Carol to him. He could smell her around him.

The animal side of him, the purely physical side, was completely and utterly satisfied. It was still and calm and tired. It was ready for sleep, right there in the bed that they'd just broken in for the first time, beside his chosen mate.

But Daryl's mind was stirring. It refused to be still and calm. It refused to follow the lead of his body and settle down, albeit slowly, from the activity of the evening.

It was forcing him, really against his will, to think about things and, even, to _overthink_ things.

He was counting up in his mind how many nights he'd missed out on with Carol. He was counting up how many nights he'd slept away from her—usually in pockets of hours as he preferred to sleep—while she'd slept alone in their bed. He wondered how many nights she'd been lying there, eyes open in the darkness, feeling as lonely as he felt at this moment.

He felt lonelier with her by his side, asleep, than he felt when he was alone in his truck. When he was alone, and she wasn't there to physically prove him wrong, he would close his eyes and imagine her with him. He could keep her awake for however long he wanted. He could keep her engaged in whatever activity he wanted—even if it was just talking to him or trailing her fingers over his chest and tracing his tattoos like she sometimes did—until he fell asleep and never noticed her quietly leaving him alone.

Daryl realized, as he was lying there, that much of his time on the road had been consumed by these things that he'd imagined. His mind, he was realizing, was a great storyteller. It just so happened that the he was the only person that it told stories to and all of those stories seemed to circle around the same things—the life that he left at home. The life he wasn't really living.

His children grew up seeing him once in a while.

Often he'd been able to fix his schedule so that he could be home once a week, even if his visits were short and he had to sleep for what seemed like too much of that time. Other times, though, those weeks got dragged out into two weeks and even three. When the children had gotten older, and they'd had other plans and other things to do, Daryl had even taken long runs that had seen him linking one trip to another to the point that "being home" had felt almost like a dream—and it had passed just as quickly.

They called him. They talked to him. Even when he was absent, he wasn't entirely absent. Carol would gather them all around the phone and she'd pass it back and forth—one after the other—every day when Daryl would call home. One by one, the children would tell him something about their day. They'd tell him some detail and then, when they'd gone off to do whatever it was that they did after he called, Carol had filled him in on the rest.

But having a parent on the other end of the line, Daryl imagined, was very different to having one that was always present and sitting across from them at the dinner table. He knew, for sure, that having children at all times was very different than having them on the other end of a phone line.

Carol had spent more of her married life alone than she'd spent with Daryl.

She had gone to parent teacher conferences and ballgames and graduations. She'd taken pictures for proms and birthday parties—many of which he'd managed to miss. She'd shuttled the kids back and forth to school and she'd cooked dinners and cleaned up after them. She'd handled broken bones and braces, break ups and broken hearts, and she'd doled out punishments and goodnight kisses. And she'd done all of it alone more than she'd done it accompanied by Daryl.

And when the kids had moved on with their lives, the sign that she'd done something right because they felt confident to leave the nest, Carol had eaten dinner alone. She'd gone to office parties alone, and she'd brought herself home to a lonely and quiet house to go to bed and fall asleep alone.

But she'd always been there when Daryl called. She'd always answered the phone, and even when she'd sounded tired and like it was all too much, she'd always told him that it was OK. She was OK. Everything was fine and they were fine—and he shouldn't worry about anything but getting home safe.

And, for the most part, Daryl realized that he'd been so oblivious, over the years, that he _hadn't_ worried about anything but getting home safe. He'd always just lived with his imagination and the lingering happiness from his trips home, and he'd always just assumed that, just like she said on the phone, everything was OK. It was great. There was nothing for him to do and nothing for him to worry about.

Tonight, though, watching Carol sleep and feeling the familiar creeping loneliness that settled in between making love and drifting off himself, Daryl wondered how many times things hadn't really been fine. He wondered how many times Carol had wished that he was there. How many nights had she ached for him just to be there, shouldering some of the day to day weight, that she carried herself?

How many times had he, unknowingly, left her alone and let her down?

And, even if it wasn't possible now to change that, could he make it up to her now that he had the time?

Daryl finally peeled himself away from Carol. She stirred slightly when he got out of the bed, but she didn't wake entirely. He made his way to the bathroom and relieved himself before he dampened a rag and washed the lingering evidence of their time together off his skin. He put on enough clothes to be considered decent by anyone that might pass by—their minds keeping them awake as much as his was at the moment—and Daryl slipped outside the RV to sit and smoke and try to still his thoughts so that he could sleep as peacefully as Carol at least seemed to be sleeping.

Sitting and feeling sorry for himself while he simultaneously felt sorry for Carol—even if she wasn't aware of it and maybe didn't even feel the same herself—Daryl laughed to himself at the irony of the self-comforting thoughts that his mind, the very creator of his current problems, offered him. He would get through this. He would get through the feelings. And, maybe, Carol would help him. She always did, after all. She helped him through everything, even if he wasn't always there to help her.

 _They would get through it. That's what they did._


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl sat in the folding chair smoking a cigarette and looking around at the still and silent campground. Everyone, it seemed, was asleep. Inside the campers, or at least inside the ones that Daryl could see from where he was sitting, there were no lights burning. The light that bathed him came from the light poles that the campground had randomly placed to keep things safe and from the hokey little lamps that hung like palm tree shaped Christmas lights around the awnings that some people erected in front of their campers.

It was quiet. The absolute quiet, in fact, was the only reason that Daryl was able to hear the click and low whine of the hinges to the camper door that told him that Carol was awake and had found his temporary oasis of silence. She invited herself out, without a word, and made her way over to sit next to him in the fold out chair that was left empty.

Daryl glanced over at her. Her face showed proof that she'd been asleep. Her eyes were starting to get the slightly puffy quality to them that they got when she slept soundly. Her hair was sticking out in odd directions. She hugged herself, hugging her light robe to her body, like she was cold instead of like they were sitting outside on a balmy evening.

"Are you going to tell me what I did wrong?" Carol asked. Daryl hummed and she repeated the question. He didn't want to tell her that he'd heard her the first time.

"You ain't done nothing wrong," Daryl said. "Just wanted a cigarette."

"Don't play with me, Daryl," Carol said. "We've been married thirty two years and one thing that's always been true is you leave whenever something's wrong. You get up. You go outside. You go to the store. It doesn't matter where you go, if you leave? I know that something's wrong." Daryl laughed to himself and studied the burning end of the cigarette. His lungs felt tight from having smoked one just before this one, but he'd smoke at least one more before he went to bed. Carol eyed him and, clearly, thought the same thing. "And you're smoking," Carol said. "Several cigarettes. When everything's good? You smoke six or so a day. When it's really great, you might have a couple more to celebrate. When Merle's over and you're smoking together or—or when you're drinking. But when you're upset? You can burn through a pack in a couple of hours."

Daryl hummed.

"What'cha want me to say, Carol?" Daryl asked. "That you know me? That you know my—you know my ways? Because you do. Maybe better'n I do."

"I don't want you to say that," Carol said. "All I want you to say is—well, what's bothering you? What did I do? Give me a chance to set it right and come back to bed. I don't want to sleep alone while you're out here angry about something I've done."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Maybe you don't know me so damn good after all," Daryl said. "Just 'cause I'm out here don't mean you did nothing wrong. Don't mean it's you I'm angry at."

Carol shifted around in her chair a little and then sunk into it again. Daryl understood her momentary struggle. The seats sagged a certain way that made it impossible to sit in them in any way but one.

"Who are you mad at, Daryl?" Carol asked. "Dallas? Because he didn't tell you he had a break up?"

Daryl shook his head and hummed in the negative. He decided to go ahead and tell her what was on his mind, though, because Carol might know him, but he knew her too. He knew her well enough that he knew she wouldn't rest and she wouldn't stop guessing until she'd finally figured out the root of all his problems. Telling her what was on his mind would at least buy her a couple more hours of sleep before the sun came up and her body told her it was time to wake, no matter how exhausted she might be.

"Thirty five years I been on the road," Daryl said. "Thirty five years and—I missed damn near everything that happened at home."

Carol hummed.

"You did," she said. "And I wish I could—give you back the things you hated missing, but that isn't in my power."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I thought this would feel different," Daryl said.

"That what would feel different?" Carol asked.

"You," Daryl said. "Us. This whole thing. Thirty five years and I'm coming off the road and—I thought it would feel different. I thought I was gonna come home and—I'd get to do it all over again, you know? I mean—hell, I'm not an idiot. I knew there weren't no do overs and what's done is done. I knew them years was as gone as they could be. But I thought it'd feel different. You'd be so damn happy to see me. So ready to spend the rest of our lives together. Make up for old time."

Carol laughed to herself, the laugh changing into a cough that rumbled a little in her chest and made Daryl uncomfortable enough that he leaned forward and dropped his cigarette in the sand, pushing it down with his foot to smother the burning tip. The last thing he wanted, after finally getting his life back, was to kill his wife by smoking around her too much. If she noticed, though, or if she thought the smoke might be the cause for the cough instead of any natural tickle, she didn't say anything about it. Instead she spoke to his concerns.

"I don't know what you wanted, Daryl," Carol said. "I don't know what you want. I'm happy to see you. I'm happy—we get to do this. That's why I had everything printed out for you. It's why—I cleaned the RV and got it packed. It's why I bought the groceries and stocked the fridge with everything I knew that you'd want. I thought—that's why we made love tonight. It's everything you like—just the way you like it. Welcome home."

"You might be happy," Daryl said. "But you weren't _excited_. You still aren't. You're just like—hell, you're home. That's that."

Carol laughed again.

"If it means that much to you," she teased, "I think I can probably do a cartwheel."

Daryl tried not to laugh at her, but he couldn't avoid it entirely. He swallowed it back as quickly as he could. It was difficult to remember how sour he'd been feeling a few moments ago when Carol was trying to make him laugh and looking at him like she was—smug with her eyebrow cocked.

"Asshole," Daryl said. "You ain't even listening to me."

"I'm listening!" Carol declared, loudly enough that it made Daryl a little uncomfortable with how much it contrasted with the surrounding silence. "But I don't know what you want me to say, Daryl. I don't know what you want me to _do_."

"Every damn time I come home it was like—you couldn't wait to see me. You couldn't get enough of me. I called and I could hear it in your voice. You was so damn happy I called. You wanted to talk to me. I thought—that's how it was gonna be knowing I was coming home for good. Knowing that I'm off the road now. I thought it'd be— _ten times_ what it used to be. Instead? That just ain't what it feels like. Do you know how damn long I been driving and just—just _dreaming_ of what it was gonna be like when I was home all the time? Just thinking about what our first night was gonna be like? What every night was gonna be like?"

Carol laughed again and struggled to sit up a little more in the seat that simply wouldn't allow her to have the posture that she wanted. Giving up, she sunk back into the hole of the seat again like a turtle resigned to remain on its back until it was ready to put up another struggle.

"So it isn't the fantasy that you wanted it to be, is that right?" Carol asked.

Daryl hesitated, but finally hummed at her.

"I guess," he said.

"I'm not the fantasy that you wanted me to be?" Carol asked.

"You ain't like you used to be," Daryl said. Carol seemed to find the statement amusing.

"You've got that right," Carol said. "And you're not the man I married thirty two years ago. You're not the man that I started dating _thirty three_ years ago, Daryl. Three decades have passed. I think we're allowed to change a little."

"That ain't what I'm talking about," Daryl said. "It was different even when I come in the last time. You were happier to see me."

"I wasn't happier to see you," Carol said. "I've never been any happier to see you than I was any other time. Every time I see you? I'm just as happy as I can be. Even when you're sitting out here being a grump because I'm not cutting cartwheels and—dancing or something." She hugged her robe tighter and, this time, seemed to wiggle down deeper into her chair. She lowered her voice. "I gave you a blow job. No reciprocation. Didn't even make you ask for it and I didn't even ask you for reciprocation. Just to say welcome home. And I think I deserve at least a _little_ credit for that. Just a—point or something."

Daryl snorted.

"That ain't what this is about," he said.

"I still want my credit," Carol said.

"You're trying to tell me the way you were, seeing me last night, is just the same way you been all along?" Daryl asked. "That's bullshit and you know it."

Carol sighed.

"This is my fault," she said.

"Fuck—no it ain't," Daryl said. Worse than the way he felt, he hated the idea of her feeling bad.

"It is," Carol insisted. "I created the fantasy for you. I—built the fantasy. I built up your expectations and then? I let you down."

Daryl cleared his throat and, deciding that she wasn't likely dying from lung disease at the moment, lit another cigarette for himself.

"How you figure that?" Daryl asked.

"Every time you came home? I did everything I could to make it the best time I could possibly make it. If you were home for a week? I made it the best week that I could make it. If you were home for a couple of days? I filled every moment of those days with everything I could possibly pack into them to make you feel like—well, to make you feel like you got everything out of them that you could. I put everything in there that I—that I could put in. I wanted you to have, in every one of those breaks, everything you were missing out on when you were on the road," Carol said. She made a noise in her throat. "And I kept all the bad to myself because you were only home for a couple of days and you didn't need to be bothered with it. You didn't need to know about it. I even told the kids—your daddy doesn't get to see you that much. You know? If you've got something bad? Put it on a shelf for a couple of days. I built the fantasy for you that everything was perfect because I wanted your time at home to be perfect." She sighed and sat forward, diving back into her turtle struggle again for a few seconds. "But the truth is, Daryl, that life _isn't_ perfect. Life isn't a fantasy. It never was. And, I guess, knowing that you're home for good—I forgot that I needed to put on the show because—I can't keep it going for the rest of our lives."

"You been lying to me all these years?" Daryl asked.

"No," Carol said. "Not lying. Maybe I've been—cleaning up the truth a little bit, but I've never lied to you."

"Why would you do that, Carol?" Daryl asked. "Why wouldn't you just—tell me everything? Just like it was? Why paint it different?"

"Because you weren't home that much," Carol said. "I just wanted home to be special to you. At any rate, it looks like I did the wrong thing. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry you had to come home to find out that—I'm just a regular old person and home is just a regular, dull place. It's nothing special."

Daryl swallowed.

"It was always special," Daryl said. "Was always gonna be special. It's where the hell you are." He laughed to himself. "I been all over the damn place and—I seen a lot of pretty impressive shit. But there ain't never been nothing I liked seeing better'n my own damn driveway. Knowing you was there, just—just in the house. Probably waiting on my ass in the kitchen or passed out asleep somewhere if I pushed it too damn late. It was always gonna be special, Carol."

She wasn't looking at him, but he saw the smile bloom across her features.

"Thank you," she said softy, barely loud enough for him to hear.

And it struck Daryl that those words, maybe, were the two that he'd said the least to her in their marriage. But they were words that everyone needed to hear.

"No," he said. "Thank you. Hell—I don't say it enough. Can't hardly remember the last time I said it."

"I always knew when you _meant_ it," Carol pointed out.

"No," Daryl said. "I don't think you did. Not as much as I meant it. Not as—often."

Carol looked at him then and offered him a softer version of the smile that she'd been wearing.

"Are we going to go back to bed tonight?" She asked. "And—are you going to forgive me for not being able to keep your fantasy going forever?"

Daryl laughed to himself at her tone.

"We'll go back to bed," he said, nodding his head. "But—I think—I think I got me a new _something_ to chew on."

"Something I did?" Carol asked, furrowing her brow. "Or didn't do?" She added as an afterthought.

Daryl shook his head.

"Something I didn't do," Daryl said. "I been so damn worried about what I missed—I don't think I give it a lot of thought about what you might've missed. You made me a thirty three year fantasy, Carol. So—I'ma give you one. Make up for—for all that lost time. But not for me. For that time I took away from you."

"I don't need you to make anything up to me, Daryl," Carol said. "There's nothing to make up."

Daryl smirked at her.

"You know, it ain't always about you," he teased. "Or what the hell you need or want. Maybe—I can do something just because I want to. Don't need you taking care of me all the time just because—just because your ass don't never need me to do nothing for you."

Carol laughed at him.

"OK," She said. "OK, Daryl. Whatever you want? Whatever—is going to make you happy? We'll do it. Because if you're happy? I already know that I'll be happy."

"And maybe you'll get a little fantasy of your own," Daryl said, winking at her.

"Maybe I will," Carol ceded, even if the tone of her voice told Daryl that she was entirely void of expectation. That was fine, though. He didn't mind if she was keeping her expectations low. After all, he had no idea, yet, exactly what he intended to.

But he felt that it would be nice to give Carol something that made her feel special. It would be nice to make her feel as appreciated as she really was—and as appreciated as maybe he'd failed to make her feel in the past. And, on a purely selfish note, he suspected that it might make him feel a little better too. He wasn't going to get time back, and he couldn't make up for the time that he'd lost, but he _could_ give Carol some of the things that he thought she should have had all along.

"Go to bed?" Daryl asked. Carol hummed at him and he got up. He gathered up his cigarette butts and tossed them into the ring where they'd build a fire the next day. He wiped his hands on his pants and turned around to find Carol sitting in her chair, hugging herself and smiling at him. He smirked at her. "What you waiting on?" He asked.

She raised her eyebrows at him and sighed.

"You were wrong about one thing," Carol said.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"I do need you," Carol said. Daryl swallowed and nodded his head at her. He might have offered her some warm and loving words—or at least the best he could do since he'd never been anybody's poet—but she lowered her eyebrows at him and gave him the smirk that let him know what was coming next. "Because I'm stuck in this damn deep-ass chair."

Daryl laughed at her and offered her a hand. She took it and he pulled her out of the chair, heaving her to her feet to walk with him.

"Asshole," he muttered. She laughed at him.

"I love you too, Pookie," she teased.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here. More to come.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"That's what you're wearing?" Daryl asked when Carol emerged from the bedroom of the RV and declared that she was ready to take the walk down to the ocean.

"What's wrong with it?" Carol asked seemingly slightly offended.

"Nothing," Daryl said. "Just—you got more clothes on to go to the beach than I've seen most people wear to church on a Sunday morning."

Carol looked down at herself to examine her outfit as though she hadn't seen it before—as though she hadn't just spent half an hour layering up after Daryl had slathered her back and shoulders with the sunblock that she couldn't apply to those spots by herself.

"I burn easily, Daryl," Carol said.

"And you got two good coats of sunblock on you," Daryl said. "You could probably sit on the face of the sun and not get burned with that much SPF."

Carol narrowed her eyes at him.

"There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing," Carol said.

"Not if you a nun," Daryl agreed. "Why the hell your bathing suit got a skirt on it?"

"I'm not as young as I used to be," Carol remarked.

"The hell you say!" Daryl responded. He laughed to himself, though, at Carol's facial expression. He could give her a hard time for just about anything, but he better know when she was done accepting it. He shook his head. "You got everything you want in that bag?" She nodded. "Then let's go," Daryl said. "At least I know I'll be able to find you down there. You'll be the only one wearing a full set of clothes."

The walk down to the beach didn't take them long. It would have taken them even less time if they'd actually walked quickly, but they were in no rush. For the first time in as long as Daryl could remember, they had nowhere to be and no set time to get there. They could walk just as slowly as they wanted.

At the water, they picked out a spot to leave their shoes and bag and Daryl carried the two light chairs that they'd brought with them down to the water's edge and unfolded them. Planting them into the sand, he offered Carol a hand to help her sit in hers without tipping over and spilling to the ground.

They were clearly the early birds. A handful of beach goers were out and about, but mostly they had the beach to themselves for the time being. The late summer date meant that many of the young people were scurrying back to school and many other people would be abandoning their vacation spots to return to their homes in time to ready themselves for work.

That was a world to which neither Daryl nor Carol belonged anymore.

It was peaceful sitting at the water's edge with his feet in the wet sand. The water came up with every wave and lapped at his toes. Carol seemed to be enjoying it, too, because she alternated between sitting with her head back, staring up at the sky with her eyes probably closed behind her shades, and staring out at the water while she curled and uncurled her toes to dig a tiny ditch around her feet that the water washed away as soon as the waves rolled in again.

Daryl watched her tap her hands on the arm of her chair, a nervous habit that was born of never really taking time to just sit idly, and he watched as she wiggled around and occasionally glanced around her in search of others that were enjoying the beach. He knew that she'd always been the type of person who couldn't hold still—one of those people who seemed to be perpetually in motion—but he'd never actually thought about the fact that maybe she didn't sit still because she'd spent so much of her life with the pressure of a "to-do" list pressing down on her.

Daryl thought that his retired life would simply happen a certain way. He thought that everything would fall into place and it would unfold before him just the way that he imagined it would. He thought that Carol would be, at all times, excited to have him there and overjoyed with his presence. He'd imagined that this trip—the first of many—would be a trip that was naturally a passion-soaked frenzy of bliss that was brought on by their simple nearness.

And now, slowly, he was having to come to terms with the fact that what he imagined was just what it was—fantasy.

Carol had spent most of their married life working to create and perfect that fantasy for Daryl, but if he wanted things to go a certain way from here, he was going to have to play a part in making them happen. They weren't going to be naturally occurring. Everything wasn't simply going to play out the way that he'd imagined.

Daryl looked at Carol. He really looked at her for the first time in—he wasn't even sure how long.

She had changed a great deal since they'd married. Her hair was silver—and it had been for most of their marriage—but there was a great deal more white to it now than there once had been. She'd once kept it cut short—almost shaved—but now she allowed it grow enough to show that if it were long it would fall in wild and unruly curls. Her face showed signs of the passage of time, but the most noticeable lines were those that she got from smiling. Maybe those were the best markers of time. At least they showed that it hadn't been a horrible life that she'd been leading all these years.

She'd forever been shy about her body, and that hadn't changed. The matching skirt that accompanied her bathing suit, the oversized hat, and the large sunglasses that made her look like a starlet trying to hide from the paparazzi reminded Daryl that she'd always had at least a little bit of a desire to "hide" herself from everyone.

Everyone except him.

Daryl reached out and caught Carol's hand. She jumped at first, her head snapping in his direction, and Daryl laughed to himself.

"Scare ya?" He asked.

She blew out the breath that she'd sucked in with the shock.

"I was just thinking," she said.

"Wanna tell me what about?" Daryl asked.

"Nothing really," Carol said. "Just that—it feels strange. If I were at home? I'd have probably done—so much by now. All I've done today is make breakfast and wash the dishes."

"And that's just because you wouldn't let me wash them," Daryl pointed out.

"I can wash the dishes," Carol said.

"And so can I," Daryl said. "Point is—we're on vacation. That's what you're supposed to do on vacation. Nothing." Carol hummed at him. "You like it out here?" Daryl asked. "You having a good time?"

"I'm having a good time," Carol assured him. "It's nice out here. Peaceful."

"We just about got the whole place to ourselves," Daryl said.

Carol smiled to herself.

"Not for long," she said. "It's still early. Most people are probably still having breakfast. Sleeping in. They'll be out here soon."

"You remember last time we was here?" Daryl asked. Carol didn't immediately respond to him, and Daryl thought he might have to refresh her memory. "You remember? Matthew was maybe three years old and he kept—running out into the water and he'd get scared. Run back in screaming before he turned around and he'd just run right back out there again until he saw a wave coming. He didn't never calm down until I took him out. And—and I remember you had that big umbrella that I set up. Put a big blanket down and Sophia and Matthew took a nap right out on the beach."

"You took a nap with them," Carol said.

Daryl smiled to himself.

"So you didn't forget about it," he said.

"No," Carol said. "I didn't forget."

"Was a lot of fun," Daryl offered.

"It was fun," Carol said, not sounding entirely sold on it. Daryl swung her hand.

"You telling me you didn't have fun?" He asked.

Carol looked at him and offered him a smile. He wished that he could see her eyes better behind the oversized glasses that she was wearing.

"I had fun, Daryl," Carol said. "I just—remember it a little differently than you do. That's all."

"How you figure that?" Daryl asked.

Carol sucked in a breath and shrugged.

"You played with the kids and—when you weren't playing with them, you sat in a chair just like one of these," Carol said. "I was pregnant with Dallas and—I was taking care of the kids. I spent half the day solving fights over buckets and shovels and—fighting to get sunscreen on them. They were exhausted and the nap? Don't you remember that they didn't sleep at all that night?"

Daryl shook his head.

"No," he said. "I don't remember that."

Carol laughed to herself.

"That's because you were asleep," she said. "You turned that air conditioner on in the room that sounded like an old washing machine and you went to sleep."

"So you didn't have a good time," Daryl said.

"I _did_ have a good time," Carol said, stressing the words. "But my good time and your good time were a little different. That's all. I was exhausted and—I fell asleep in the car on the way back."

"That I remember," Daryl said with a laugh. "You didn't wake up until we was home. I thought you were dead. Kept checking for a pulse and trying to figure out how I was gonna tell the kids."

Carol freed her hand from his enough to reach and playfully swat at him.

Daryl got to his feet, then, and wrestled his chair out of its position where it had sunk down into the wet sand. He offered a hand to Carol and she looked at him. Even if he couldn't see her eyes, he knew what they were doing behind the shades. Daryl wiggled his fingers at her.

"Come on," he said. "We can leave our stuff up there. Ain't nobody gonna bother it."

"Where are we going that we have to worry about that?" Carol asked, trying to look at him around her own shades.

"Going walking," Daryl said. "Down the beach. Just you and me. There ain't no kids here today so there ain't nobody needs looking after. Just—get up and walk with me a little bit."

Carol hesitated but finally reached and took his hand. Daryl pulled her to her feet before he released her hand and freed her chair from the sand in the same way that he'd freed his own. He quickly carried both of them up the beach to the spot where their bag and shoes waited, and he left the chairs there. Then he trotted back down the beach to where Carol was standing, still in the edge of the water.

He offered her his hand again.

"Walk with me?" He asked.

Carol took his hand and squeezed it.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Why you so suspicious?" Daryl asked. "You see a cliff or something out here I could be walking you off of?"

"No," Carol responded.

"Then don't be suspicious," Daryl said. "Just walk with me, woman!"

He tugged her hand to drive home his point and she followed him. He set a slow pace for them walking down the beach and they only had to go a very short distance before Carol relaxed and he felt the muscles in her hand loosen as he held it in his. She looked around her as they walked, scanning her eyes lazily from the beach to the water and back to the beach again.

As they walked, Daryl swung her hand in his and she responded, every now and again, by offering his hand a little squeeze. Whenever she caught him looking at her out of the corner of her eye, she offered him a smile that made her nose crinkle and then she quickly looked away like she was embarrassed at how much she was enjoying something as simple as quietly walking hand in hand with him on the beach.

And Daryl, too, was surprised at how much he was enjoying something so completely unremarkable.

The fantasy might just be a fantasy and nothing more, but there was hope that to every fantasy there was at least a hint of reality.

Daryl found the first piece of his walking hand in hand with the woman he loved down an almost deserted beach. It was, for just a moment, as though they were new loves instead of the seasoned veterans of a thirty-two year marriage.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Maybe Daryl had forced a little more excitement and mystery into going alone to the bathhouse for a shower than was really there, but it was the only way that he knew to buy a few minutes away from Carol. After spending most of the earliest hours of the day walking back and forth on the beach, and after resting their tired feet and soaking them for a little while in the salt water, Daryl had convinced Carol that part of the excitement of this particular campground was the nice bathhouses that it boasted having. He'd helped her pack a bag of toiletries, spare clothes, and a clean towel, and he'd sent her on her way to take a shower—since it always took her longer than it took him and he could grab a quick shower as soon as she got back—and then he'd dived into the work that he'd set for himself to do in her absence.

A few phone calls later and he'd been in touch with three different people who worked at the campground—all of which were year-round natives of the coastal city—and he'd found a short list of the perfect places that he and his wife could go to find the romance that Daryl worried they might have lost somewhere—or at least buried pretty deeply.

The quiet calm of the seaside had given Daryl time to think, and the more that he thought, the more that he realized that it wasn't _him_ who had missed out on _his_ life. It was _them_. In some ways, _they_ had missed out on _their_ life. He and Carol both had lived full lives—very full lives in more ways than one—but they had both missed out on something very important.

 _They had missed out on each other._

Their early relationship had been a whirlwind of a few dates weaved into his busy schedule as a driver and her busy schedule as a working, single mother. Though they'd been together a year before they'd officially married, their courtship had been short and fast and almost dizzying. The knot tied and their lives not slowing down at all, and they'd welcome Matthew almost immediately into their family.

They'd gone from dating to settled so fast that they'd both missed the transition. They'd missed the early magic of simply being together.

And now, they were getting it all back. Daryl was getting back what he'd missed, just as he'd planned all along, but Carol was getting back what she'd missed as well. Daryl was determined to breathe new life into the same old, comfortable existence that they'd been sharing for so many years.

When Carol came back from the bathhouse, cleanly washed and pink skinned from taxing the hot water heater of the small stone building, she looked relaxed and fresh-faced. The sunblock had protected her from being burned, but it hadn't stopped her from freckling, and the abundance of little brown sugar spots—as Daryl liked to call the tiny freckles that peppered her skin—gave her something of the appearance of a much younger woman.

Holding hands during a quiet walk on the beach looked good on Carol.

"You run the whole place outta hot water?" Daryl asked as soon as she'd put the bag down inside the RV and gone about hanging up her damp towels to dry in the small bathroom.

"It's really nice," Carol said, ignoring his teasing about her long shower. "You'll love it. It's clean and—I was the only person in there. I had the whole place to myself."

"Guess I'm about to find out," Daryl said. "What you doin' while I'm gone?"

Carol shrugged and smiled to herself. She stopped her fluttering about to examine herself in the mirror in the bathroom.

"You didn't tell me I was getting burned," she said.

"You ain't burnt," Daryl said. "You got some sun, but it's far from burnt."

"I look like a leopard with all these spots," Carol said.

Daryl leaned into her and kissed the back of her neck. She shivered and he felt it run all the way up her body.

"Look sweet," Daryl said. "All covered over in brown sugar. What you doin' while I'm showering?" He asked again, pressing her to respond to him.

Carol sucked in a breath and shrugged again.

"Reading a book, probably," she said. "What did you do while I was gone? Probably fell asleep."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Shows how damn much you know," he responded. "As it turns out? I was making some calls. And tomorrow night? You and me? We got us a date."

Carol turned around, no longer relying on the mirror to carry the conversation between them, and stared at Daryl with her mouth slightly open. At first he couldn't tell if she was going to be happy about the proposal or if she was going to burst into tears at the thought of it. Apparently Carol wasn't entirely sure either.

"A date?" She asked. Daryl nodded his head at her. He smiled, hoping that his smile would help influence her to feel excited about the prospect.

"Dancing," Daryl said. "Turns out there's a nice place not a couple miles from here. We're driving there and we're going dancing."

"Dancing?" Carol asked. Daryl suddenly wondered if something had happened to render them unable to speak the same language. He nodded his head. "You hate dancing," Carol said.

"Now that ain't entirely true," Daryl offered.

"It is true!" Carol said. "When have you danced, Daryl?"

"Our wedding," Daryl pointed out.

"Exactly," Carol said. "Our wedding. And you haven't danced since then. Because you hated it. You complained every time we practiced for it. You said—you didn't dance."

"But tomorrow night, I do dance," Daryl said.

Carol was a little pinker in the face than she'd been moments before and Daryl hoped it was emotion and not sunburn. He would have hated to have lied to her when he told her that she wasn't burned just to spend the rest of the night watching her grow redder and redder as the proof of the burn came to the surface. He didn't want her to be angry either, but at least anger wouldn't be as painful to her quite as long as a bad burn might be.

"I don't have anything to wear dancing, Daryl," Carol said. "I don't—I'm not ready for something like that."

"It's a casual place," Daryl said. "Just for havin' fun. Just a bunch of—old ass people like us. Nothin' you gotta get too dolled up for."

"I don't..." Carol said, but she didn't finish.

Daryl realized that the pink shade that was blushing her cheeks wasn't coming from sun exposure. It was coming from the sheer horror of showing up at some strange place—even though nobody would know her and nobody would care—without something she felt was proper or even _nice_ to wear. She'd packed for the beach. She hadn't packed for dates.

 _She hadn't needed anything to wear on a date for decades. And that was Daryl's fault._

"I'm goin' to take a shower," Daryl said, deciding to cut off any argument before it might blossom and bloom into its full self. "And when I get back? We're goin' to get you somethin' to wear."

"I don't want to go shopping," Carol protested. "It's ridiculous to buy something for one night."

Daryl considered it. Maybe it _was_ ridiculous to buy something for one night, but it wouldn't be the most ridiculous thing he'd ever done—and it would be more than worth it. He decided to stick with his original plan of ending the argument before it had even really begun.

"Been a long time since you got something new," Daryl said. "Somethin' nice. Goin' to shower. Then we're goin' shopping."

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"I ain't sayin' you gotta buy it, Carol," Daryl said. "Just—put it on. Let me get a little peek at it. You can take it right back off and try on whatever you want."

Carol was doing her best to remain in the dressing room with nothing showing beyond her face through the partially opened door. She'd tried on at least ten dresses, none of which she'd liked, and Daryl had decided to do his own browsing while he was waiting on her. Snagging a couple of her discarded garments to find out what size his wife wore—something he'd never bothered to know before—Daryl had gone snooping around in the dresses to find some things to offer her.

And it had only caused a moderate amount of suspicion and odd looks from the slightly hovering salespeople that walked around the floor of the department store.

"Daryl they aren't right," Carol said. "They're all too— _young_."

"All the same age to me," Daryl said. "Not been bought yet, so that's pretty new."

"You know what I mean," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself and leaned closer into the space she offered him with the partially opened changing room door.

"No," he said. "I don't. Enlighten me."

She frowned at him. When she spoke again, it was clear that she'd changed her strategy. Daryl might not have been around all the time, but he'd been around enough to know some of the tricks that she had up her sleeve as his wife.

"You hate shopping," Carol said, loading her voice down with heavy concern for Daryl's well-being and happiness. "And we've spent almost a whole evening here. Let's just—go back to the RV and I'll make us some dinner. We can—watch television and forget this whole thing, Daryl."

Daryl gnawed at his lip and purposefully made it appear that he was mulling over what she'd said. For her benefit he even offered her a very slight nod of the head. He saw her spirits suddenly lift just a little at the thought that she might not have to choose a dress—of the many, many dresses that the place had to offer—and that he might even praise her for being so self-sacrificing that she'd give up her opportunity to go dancing—something he knew she'd once said she really enjoyed—just so that he didn't have to suffer through spending any more long hours in the department store.

"You right," Daryl said. "Or—or...now just hear me out, Carol. Or...you could try this here dress on. And if you don't like it? You could—put on a couple of them again until you like one. Because I believe we just about got damn near every dress in the store in a pile in that little room."

Carol frowned at him so sincerely that Daryl almost felt sorry for her. He almost felt sorry enough for her that he might call off the whole night. _Almost_. He might have called it off, too, if he really thought that she'd hate it so much, but he was sure that once she got over this hump she was going to be really pleased with the dancing. She just needed a dress. And to get her over the hump, Daryl had to be the pusher.

"They're all summer dresses," Carol said.

"Good damn thing," Daryl said. "It's hot as hell out there."

"I don't have the legs for them," Carol said.

"You got the nicest damn legs I ever seen," Daryl said.

"You have to say that," Carol responded.

"I don't gotta say shit," Daryl pointed out. "And if it weren't true? I just wouldn't say nothin'. Like how Andrea still don't know that I think her damn meatloaf tastes like Alpo."

"Daryl..." Carol said.

He laughed to himself because he really didn't know if the verbal warning had to do with the dresses and dancing or if it had to do with Andrea's Alpo Special.

He shook his head at Carol.

"Fine," he said. "You win. You try this here dress on. This one right here that I got in my hand. And you do me a little turn out here. And if you don't like it? We'll pack up, call it a day, and head on back to the RV." Carol sighed out some relief at the thought that she was getting out of things. But Daryl couldn't let her off the hook that easily. "My own wife don't even wanna dance with me..." he muttered, making sure it was loud enough for her to understand. "Try to take her out 'cause I wanna...wanna show her off and...she don't even wanna dance with me." He raised his voice then. "But you just try this one on and—if you don't like it? We'll just—go on back. Forget the whole damn thing. Forget the—forget the whole damn date."

Carol narrowed her eyes at him, but she did reach her arm out of the dressing room and snatch the dress from him. Almost immediately she closed the dressing room door in his face with a little more force than was necessary for such a light door and Daryl bit his lip to stifle his amusement at her reaction. He returned to the chair that he'd been sitting in for a good bit of the evening and he waited for her to get into the dress, ignoring the whispered expletives that issued forth from inside the small dressing area.

As soon as she opened the door, though, and without even having to see what she looked like when she emerged entirely and did the quick little turn for him that he'd requested, Daryl knew that they had a winner.

There wasn't a more beautiful dress in the whole of the store for a simple night of dancing at a little beach haunt.

And there certainly wasn't a more beautiful woman around to wear it.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **For those of you who are particularly sensitive to the subject, there's some *mention* of considering infidelity/looking at other people/thinking about other people. Nothing happens, it's just part of the discussion that Daryl and Carol have.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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In another place and time, Daryl might have been jealous over the men that were paying his wife attention. Tonight, though, he found that he didn't feel any jealousy whatsoever. In fact, he almost wanted to catch the attention of the men who seemed to have failed to notice Carol and push them toward her so they could see what they were missing. He liked the way that her face lit up when someone spoke to her—when they complimented her and had no reason to do so other than they genuinely thought she was lovely—and he liked the way that she entertained them for only a second before she waved them away, no doubt telling them that she was married. She was already spoken for.

Daryl took his time coming back from smoking his cigarette to watch her from a distance. He hid himself, purposefully, among the crowd to keep her from seeing him when she glanced around in search of him.

Once upon a time he might have felt jealous about the attention that she was getting. Now, he couldn't help but feel good from the smile that it brought to her face and the knowledge that, of all the men there, he was the one that was taking her home.

When he'd had his fun, Daryl finally returned to the bar where he'd left her sitting. He cleared his throat as he walked up behind her and Carol turned quickly. She smiled warmly at him.

"I thought you got lost," Carol said.

"I did," Daryl said. "Least, a lil' bit. More people here than I expected."

"It's pretty crowded," Carol agreed. "Are you alright? It's not too crowded?"

Daryl laughed to himself at her concern. He didn't care for crowds, but neither did she. When it started getting so that people were bumping into one another, both of them preferred to take their leave of a place. This "little bar," though, had been elbow-to-elbow since they'd walked in the door and both of them had soldiered through the crowd because they were dressed up, they were set on a night of dancing, and that's what the hell was going to happen.

Daryl was going to dance—two left feet in all their glory—with his wife. And every man she'd turned away at the bar could watch them.

"It ain't that bad," Daryl said. "Checked out the little dancing area on my way back inside. Don't look half as crowded as this here pick-up station is. What'cha say we go over there and see if we can't find a quiet little spot for us?"

"Didn't you want a drink?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head at her.

"Not right now," he said. "Not unless—you wanted one. You want a drink, we can wait."

Carol regarded the people around her, all trying to find someone to spend the evening with, and shook her head. Rather than respond to him verbally, she moved to get off her chair and Daryl backed up enough to let her escape, apologizing to someone behind him for stepping on something that he was pretty sure was his foot. Daryl pushed Carol out in front of him to guide her through the crowd, and he laughed to himself when, just as they were about to reach the little area where the herd thinned a little, one man stopped Carol by catching her arm. Carol looked at him almost like she was offended, but her offense melted a little when he asked her to dance.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, speaking loudly enough that he could hear her over the din around them. "I'm married. I can't." She gestured over her shoulder toward Daryl and Daryl waved at the man when he made eye contact with him. The man apologized for his mistake and told Carol to have a good evening, though he didn't actually acknowledge Daryl at all. As soon as they were free of the final obstacle, Carol broke through the crowd and landed them in the much less crowded dancing area where there were only about twelve couples rocking back and forth together like they were at a junior high dance.

She turned around to square off with Daryl and he tried to remember the correct way to even approach such a thing as dancing. She'd been right, after all. It was something he hadn't done since they'd been married. She helped him get his hands adjusted, though, so that it took them next to no time to be swaying along with the other couples.

"You didn't have to tell him no," Daryl said. "In fact, you didn't have to tell none of them no at the bar."

Carol pulled away from him and cocked an eyebrow at him. She was trying to look mad, but her smile was showing through and betraying her.

"How do you know about the men at the bar?" She asked.

Daryl grinned at her.

"I mighta seen just a little bit of it," Daryl said.

"You were watching me?" Carol asked. "You don't trust me?"

"Not a damn thing like that," Daryl said. "Hell, I was watchin' you because—'cause you're the most beautiful woman in this place. Besides—you're real pretty when you blush. And you blush whenever anybody tells you that you're pretty."

As if to illustrate his point, Carol's cheeks did run a warmer pink in the dim lighting.

"It's nice to hear it," Carol said. "Even if it isn't true."

"Hell, you know it's true," Daryl said. "Why the hell else would they say it?"

She raised her eyebrows at him and then leaned her head against his chest.

"The same reason men always say it, Daryl," Carol said. "They're here alone. They're lonely. They want some attention. And—one of the best ways to get that is to give a little attention to a woman. Flatter me and maybe I'll go home with you."

Daryl hummed at her. With her leaning against him like that, it was easy to forget the people that were around them. It was easy to forget that they were in public and that he didn't know this song—and he might not know any of the music that they played that night. It was easy to forget, too, that he was nervous over the fact that he might not know what to do with his feet and he was trying everything possible not to step on her toes the same way he'd stepped on the toes of some random stranger at the bar.

With Carol leaning against him like that, it was easy to simply melt into her. Daryl felt himself relax as completely as he could outside of his own home.

"Well I'm glad you're goin' home with me," he said. "Still—you're awful damn loyal. I got a look at some of them that was asking you to dance and...it looks like they might have a helluva lot more to offer you."

Carol pulled away from him again and smirked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Were you interested?" She asked. "I'm sure there's more than one in here that would be happy to ask _you_ to dance, if you're looking."

"Ain't no woman in here asked me to dance," Daryl said. "Wrong generation for that."

Carol laughed.

"I wasn't talking about the women," she offered. "Still, if that's what you're looking for, I could probably stir some of them up. You see something that you like?"

Daryl snorted at her teasing and nodded his head. He tried to be as serious as he could be, though it wasn't easy with her looking at him like that—nostrils flared in challenge and in her efforts to fight her own amusement.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I do see somethin' I like. And, lucky for me, I asked her to dance and she agreed. Even if I seen her turnin' down a shit load of other men here."

Carol's expression softened and a little of the pink returned to her cheeks. She returned, once more, to her position of leaning against him, but it was just in time to hear the music die down from the song and leave them standing there in the quiet pause before another song started up. Daryl pulled away enough to look at her, but he didn't move his hands from their locations. Around them, the couples that had been dancing were breaking. They fled here and there in search of drinks and new partners. Daryl and Carol stayed right where they were.

"And I would keep turning them down," Carol informed Daryl. "I'll always turn them down. I never—I really never wanted anything else. I never really wanted anyone else."

Daryl thought he caught a flash of something on her expression—something that didn't make him wholly comfortable.

"Except?" He asked.

"Except what?" Carol asked.

"I don't know," Daryl admitted. "But there's something about you that looks like you don't believe you."

Carol sucked in a breath and nodded her head gently. She looked around her like she was surveying the ambience of the room around them. She looked at Daryl and shrugged her shoulders.

"I never wanted anything else," she repeated. "But—there was this one time that I did...that I considered it. I thought about it."

Daryl's stomach dropped. He imagined it's what he might have felt like if he'd swallowed a handful of lead marbles.

"You thought about—what, exactly?" Daryl asked. "Leavin' me?" Carol frowned and half-shrugged her shoulders. "Cheatin' on me?" Daryl asked. Carol looked at him and shook her head.

"No," she said. "Neither one, really. I mean—I didn't think about it like that. It didn't turn into anything. I wasn't really—I guess I wasn't even thinking about it. It's just that there was this one time that there was a man who—he showed some interest in me. And just like tonight, I told him I was married. But there was—I think there was at least a minute there when I thought about it. Even if I don't know what I was thinking about. I just thought—it might be nice. He might be nice."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head at her.

"But you didn't do nothin'?" Daryl asked. Carol shook her head.

"Of course not," she said.

He furrowed his eyebrows at her.

"So you're sayin' that you just thought about it?" Daryl asked. "You just—thought about him and what—he might be like if he was your husband?"

Carol laughed to herself, but it wasn't a sincere laugh.

"I don't think I even thought about what it might be like if he was my husband," Carol said. "I think—I just thought about what it might be like. But I never even told myself what the "it" was."

"And you feelin' guilty for that?" Daryl asked. "Because, hell, it's all over your face that you're feelin' guilty. Like I just caught your ass with your hand in the cookie jar."

Carol shrugged her shoulders again.

"Shouldn't I feel guilty about that?" She asked.

"You think I never seen no woman somewhere and just thought—wonder what it'd be like?" Daryl asked. He saw the expression that quickly crossed Carol's face, but he didn't apologize for what he'd said. He knew that infidelity was a fear of hers—one they'd battled on more than one occasion—so admitting that maybe he had thought about some things in his life was, perhaps, a little more of a slap in the face to Carol than it was to him. But he wanted to drive his point across and this was the only way he knew to do it.

"I figured there was," Carol said. "Probably a lot. You saw a lot of—you probably met a lot of people on the road."

"I did," Daryl said. "I met a lotta damn people. And I spent a helluva lot of time by myself. All alone. Hours and hours that I just didn't see nobody that I really talked to. Nobody that I really cared about. I thought about it a lot more than I was even comfortable sleepin' on at night sometimes."

Carol simply stared at him in response. He stared back at her until she finally spoke.

"What's your point?" Carol asked. "I thought about someone. You thought about—a lot of someones?"

"My point is that you didn't do nothin' that I bet every damn person alive ain't done once if they tellin' the truth," Daryl said. "You thought about it. I thought about it. But neither damn one of us did nothing to act on it. And I can't speak for you, but I know I didn't because I knew that—no matter what I got? It weren't gonna be better than what I had. And it weren't gonna be worth losin' what I knew I had."

Carol's expression changed a little and the slightly pained expression faded some. She offered him the bare bones start of a smile.

"Yeah," she said. She nodded her head. "That's the idea. I thought about it, but it wasn't what I wanted. I already had what I wanted."

Daryl pulled her tight against him. Around them, the music picked back up again. Another song he didn't know started to play. People started to come back to join them on the floor. The song that started had a faster tempo than the one that had played before, but Daryl didn't know how to dance to faster songs—and it didn't really matter anyway. So he ignored the music and the speed set by the other dancers around them and simply picked up rocking in place again, swaying Carol along with him as he held her against his body.

"Yeah," he said. "You got that. If I'm what you want? You got that. And—I got what I want too. They ain't made nothin' better for me."


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **One or two chapters left to go in this little short story.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl took a moment to come into himself when he opened his eyes. Carol was still asleep. Her breathing was light and barely audible. She'd be waking soon if she wasn't already teetering on the edge of consciousness. Daryl moved enough to kiss the side of her face and she stirred. He smiled to himself and kissed her face again, this time letting his lips linger there a little longer than he did the first time. She stirred again, pulled away from him, and finally opened her eyes and looked around for a second before she settled her eyes on his face.

Her initial expression was one of absolute anger or disgust at being woken, but it quickly melted into a smile. She hummed at him.

"Too early," she said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Don't gotta look at the clock to know it's later than we usually get up," Daryl said.

"Went to bed too late," Carol said, stretching herself.

"I know we was in bed by ten," Daryl said.

"We weren't _asleep_ at ten," Carol said. She yawned loudly to let Daryl know, if he didn't already, just how she felt about the morning. He pulled her to him, inching his body across the mattress to meet her, and kissed her jaw before she'd even finished the somewhat screeching yawn.

"Weren't my fault," Daryl said. "Was you that kept _me_ up."

Carol furrowed her brows at him.

"I did not," she said, pushing at him. "It was you that woke me up for your—your second wind."

Daryl laughed to himself and shook his head.

"Didn't say it was you that kept me _awake_ ," he clarified. "Said it was you that kept me _up_. Was only fair to wake you up to see what you'd done—sleepin' like that and all."

Carol narrowed her eyes at Daryl, but smirked when she got his joke. She swatted at him.

"Asshole," she muttered. Daryl pushed at her in keeping with the rough play and when she grabbed at his sides, using her knowledge of his secret ticklish spots against him, he pinned her against the mattress and held her wrists there. She laughed at him and squirmed against him—not using even the minimal amount of force that it would have taken to free herself—before she finally told him that he'd won this round. "I give," she said. "I give. You win."

Daryl let go of her wrists and Carol pushed herself up so that she was finally sitting up in the bed. She dragged her fingers through her hair and halfway combed some of the wildness out of it.

"Winner says the loser makes coffee," Daryl said. He moved her pillow, using it to pad his own, and reclined back against the both of them. "And then? She brings it in the bedroom and serves it to the winner."

Carol raised her eyebrows at him.

"I've got a better idea," Carol said. "It looks like a nice day outside. I'll make the coffee and we'll sit outside together and enjoy it."

Daryl considered the offer and sat up.

"You win," he said. "Your idea's better. Besides—we gotta decide what we're doing today anyway."

"I kind of like what we've been doing," Carol offered.

"You wanna stay in the RV all day?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged.

"What's wrong with it?" She asked.

Daryl didn't really have a response to that. There was, technically, nothing wrong with it. But when they'd planned to go on vacation, Daryl had simply thought that they'd be busy the whole time. They'd have a million things to do. They had to make up, after all, for all the time that they lost. They had to make up for all the things that they'd missed doing together.

But then, it struck him.

The doing nothing together—that was something that they'd missed too. The long mornings lazing around in bed, the slow cups of coffee over casual and unrushed conversation, the days spent watching the hours slip by together—those were things that they'd missed just as much as they'd missed the drinking and the dancing and the walking on the beach.

They had a lot to make up for together, and not all of it even required them changing out of their pajamas.

Daryl smiled at Carol.

"Make the coffee," Daryl said. "I'll set up our chairs outside. Maybe scare us up some breakfast."

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The fire was entirely unnecessary for its warmth, but it was essential for the flaming marshmallows that a quick run to the store had provided them for dessert. Daryl blew out the flame and smashed the gooey treat between the graham cracker and chocolate bar, sealing the last of the s'mores closed. Before he tasted it, he held it in Carol's direction and leaned forward enough so that she could take a bite of the treat.

"I've had enough," she said, trying to wave away the offered food.

"You ain't had near enough," Daryl said. "But this is the last one anyway. Just bite it. I'll eat the rest of it."

Carol sighed, acting as though eating one more bite of s'more was truly a challenge, but she opened her mouth to accept the sandwich and bit down on it as soon as Daryl pushed it into her mouth. He pulled the excess away as soon as she'd gotten a mouthful and polished off the remainder of it before she'd finished chewing thoughtfully through her one bite.

Carol reclined back in her chair, not fighting the fact that she couldn't sit up straight, and bobbed her foot. She watched the flames crackle in front of her and Daryl thought about offering a penny for her thoughts.

More than likely, though, they were just the same quiet thoughts that she'd had all day. The same ones that she'd shared with him in content sighs.

 _This is nice. It's so pretty here. The air smells so clean. This is really nice. I love you._

Maybe the most important of all the thoughts, at least for Daryl, was the echoing of soft and quiet declarations of "I love you" that had come throughout the day. Without prompting, she'd offered them surrounding their "nap time" when they'd gone back to their bed despite the fact that they had no need for more sleep. She'd loved him as much when they were making love as she'd seemed to love him when he made her a sandwich for lunch. She'd loved him several times while he'd drank a few beers and watched the slightly scrambled television, his head resting in her lap, while she read a cheap novel she'd picked up at the supermarket when they'd gone for burgers and marshmallows. She'd loved him twice at the supermarket and at least once in the car while they were stuck at a red light.

And all the whispered little declarations were unprompted, unexpected, and felt sincerely meant. Daryl was collecting them like pennies dropped to the ground. He didn't even know if Carol knew that she was doing it. It was simply what she was feeling, and her feelings were leaking out in the form of words that Daryl needed to hear more than he'd realized. And, in turn, he was feeling the same thing along with a warmth that came from simply knowing that being there—just being there—was what was bringing about the stirrings in Carol.

Daryl reached his hand across the small gap between them and caught Carol's arm. He squeezed it in his hand and worked his hand down to find her fingers. She turned her head enough to cut her eyes at him—like she was checking to see if someone unknown to her had slipped up to grab her hand—and then she smiled at him and squeezed his hand back. She worked his fingers between her own, absentmindedly massaging his hand as they sat there.

"Go down to the water tomorrow?" Daryl asked.

"Sounds nice," Carol said. "We could pack the cooler. Have a picnic on the beach."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Sounds like a surefire way to get a lot more sand in our diets," Daryl responded. He caught something of a frown out of the corner of his eye and quickly corrected himself. "Sand's gotta be good for fiber. Sounds good to me. Seen they had some of them surfboard rentals down there. The ones with the big sails on them? That something you'd be interested in?"

Carol cocked an eyebrow at him and looked at him with genuine amusement on her face.

"I think I do a pretty good job if I don't fall on flat surfaces," Carol said. "I'd probably spend more time in the water than I would on the board. We might as well just swim."

Daryl laughed to himself and swung her hand a little in his.

"Fair enough," he said. "What about—rentin' a boat? Hell—jet skis if we can't do that? See if we can't—get out there and get a look at some of the inlets around here?"

She was considering that—and it looked like she was seriously considering it. Finally, she shrugged and nodded her head.

"That could be fun," she said. "Jet skis? We could ride together?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"If that's what you want," he said. "I'm sure they ride double."

"It's been a long time since we rode anything together," Carol said.

Daryl hummed at her.

"How old's Matthew?" Daryl asked. "Thirty three?"

"Thirty two," Carol corrected.

"Been thirty two years, then," Daryl said. "Last time I ever let you on my bike was two days before you was holding the plastic stick. Tellin' me—it weren't just us an' Soph no more. Scared my ass to death that I'd had you on that bike when we didn't even know about him."

Carol hummed.

"I remember," Carol said. "You banned me from the bike. You banned me from the bike and from—hot baths. You banned me from just about everything when I was pregnant with Matthew. Not quite as much when I was pregnant with Dallas."

Daryl snorted.

"Because by then I knew that kids were made of rubber from the day they started getting made," Daryl teased. "At least—ours were."

"I'd like to ride with you again," Carol said. She sighed. "Jet skis. Or your bike. Merle keeps it running. He takes it out every now and again. He's brought Andrea around a few times on it."

"You never rode with him?" Daryl asked. "He'da rode you around the neighborhood."

He'd kept his bike all these years, but he really never rode it. Merle's garage was plenty big enough to hold the bike and his brother tinkered enough that he'd keep it in top condition. Daryl should have just sold it years ago, but he'd held onto it. For some reason, he'd never been able to just let it go and Carol had never given him a hard time about keeping it.

"Wouldn't be the same," Carol said. "Besides—I wouldn't feel as safe with Merle."

"He ain't never wrecked," Daryl said. "Never killed Andrea. Don't think he's ever even laid one down with her on it. He'd be extra damn careful knowing it was you 'cause he wouldn't want me to get after his ass."

"I didn't say I wouldn't _be_ as safe with Merle," Carol responded. "Just—I wouldn't _feel_ as safe with Merle."

Daryl hummed at her.

"Let's do it," Daryl said. "Tomorrow? Let's get some of them jet skis and just—ride around. Hell, if I fuck up at least we end up in the water and don't eat pavement." Carol laughed at him and hummed her agreement. "And then—what'cha say? We go up to the mountains like we planned? But we put the bike on the trailer. Go up there to see the leaves change and we bundle up. Take us a nice scenic tour, the way you supposed to do it. Right out there—wide open."

Carol sucked in a breath and squeezed his hand.

"I think—we'll give the jet skis a spin first," Carol said. "And then? We'll talk about taking the bike to the mountains. Maybe—first? We just try to take it around the block a couple of times? If I'm going to break my neck, I'd rather do it wiping out in our neighborhood than going over the side of a mountain."

Daryl laughed at her.

"You think I'd let your ass fall off a mountain?" He asked.

"I think you'd come with me," Carol responded. "But anything's possible."

Daryl pulled her hand to him and kissed her knuckles. She leaned a little, making it easier for him to reach her, and he kissed her hand again before he returned to enjoying the simple pleasure of holding it for however long he liked.

"You right about one thing," he agreed. "Anything's possible."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here. There's one more left to go and we'll be drawing this little story to a close.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"No," Daryl said. "You order the sausages. Don't order the bacon."

"You're going to tell me what I can and can't eat now?" Carol challenged across the table. She peered at Daryl over the top of the diner menu. They were the earliest diners in the establishment and they'd been discussing breakfast so long that their waitress was sitting down drinking her own cup of coffee to wait them out.

"I'm sayin' you ain't gonna eat that whole bunch of bacon that they gonna bring and you ain't gonna eat that many sausages either," Daryl reasoned. "But if you get the sausage and I get the bacon? We can split it and then we don't even gotta decide what we want. Everybody gets everything."

Carol sighed and folded up her menu. The act itself piqued the interest of their waitress, but she didn't hit her feet immediately. She'd been fooled by them before.

"Fine," Carol said. "But if you're wrong, and they don't bring a lot of everything..."

"You get all the bacon," Daryl said, finishing for her what she was going to say. Satisfied with that, Carol gave him a strong nod of the head and Daryl folded his own menu to let the poor waitress know that this time they really were ready for her.

Their waitress, who introduced herself as Hailey, came back to the table and quickly jotted down their orders after she greeted them for the third time that morning. As soon as she'd finished writing down what they requested, she winked at Carol and informed her that they always served portions that were that too big for people to finish so there would be more than enough bacon to go around.

Daryl didn't stop laughing over the whole thing until Hailey had already made it back to the kitchen to put in their order. Carol reached across the table to swat at his hand.

"Don't smack me! It was you that was worried about the bacon," Daryl said. Carol did everything in her power to frown at him, but the underlying smile was too strong for her to overcome entirely. The almost permanent smile of the past few days looked good on her. It was a sight that Daryl liked waking up to—because this smile, unlike some he doubted now from days gone by, was one that he _knew_ was genuine. "I'd say you was blushing," Daryl said. "But it's hard to tell with all the sun you got." He reached a hand across the table and touched her face. To cover over the fact that he simply wanted to touch her, he feigned that he was picking at piece of the peeling skin on her nose by gently scratching his nail over it. She pulled her face back and pushed his hand away.

"I've been outside more this week than I think I have been for—years," Carol declared, burrowing in her pocketbook. A moment later she came out with a compact and used it to examine her slightly burned skin. "I should've put on makeup. I don't know how I let you talk me into coming out to breakfast without it."

"You don't need it," Daryl said. "Look better without it. Besides, you're wearin' God's makeup right now."

"I'm sunburned," Carol responded.

Daryl laughed to himself and shook his head at her. She was sunburned, but so was he. By now the severity of it was gone, and they'd absorbed most of it, but the pink color remained her cheeks and the peeling was beginning. Their tour of the inlets on a jet ski was nice, but neither of them had thought to bring sunblock to apply once their original application wore off and, after running up on the back part of a barrier island that was pretty well abandoned and taking advantage of their discovered privacy, they'd done a pretty good job of wearing off whatever sunblock they'd started with. They were both burned by the time they returned their rental toy.

"Looks good on you," Daryl said. "Healthy."

"Looks like skin cancer and more wrinkles," Carol said. "That's what it looks like. You don't have to worry about it. It doesn't matter if you get wrinkles and—as much as you've refused to wear sunblock in your life? I'm not sure your skin isn't leather."

Daryl snorted.

"I don't care what nobody says about you," Daryl said. "You do know how to make somebody feel good about themselves."

She narrowed her eyes at him. She might have come at him with another quip—something that was happening more and more as the relaxing days of vacation went along untangling some of her knots—but Hailey returned with their plates and interrupted the back and forth that they'd set in motion.

"Waffles?" She asked. Carol sat back to accept her plate. "And you got—bacon?"

"Technically she ordered sausage," Daryl said. "But it don't matter where you put any of the plates on the table. We're gonna eat off all of 'em."

Hailey seemed to find that genuinely amusing. She put the remaining plates down in front of Daryl, but she wasn't too particular about making sure they were squared directly in front of him.

"How long have you two been together?" Hailey asked.

Daryl eyed Carol to see if she'd respond, but she waved her hand at him to send the question to him. He smiled at the young waitress.

"Almost twice as long as you've been alive," Daryl said. "More than likely."

"Fifty years?" Hailey asked, raising her eyebrows with surprise.

"Sometimes it feels like it," Carol offered with a laugh. "No, not that long. Not quite. We've been married thirty two years."

"Together thirty three," Daryl offered. "I guess you could say we're—we're on our second honeymoon."

"For it to be our second honeymoon," Carol offered, more to Daryl than to Hailey, "we would've had to have had a _first_ honeymoon."

Hailey, having currently no other customers in the diner, wasn't in too great a hurry to escape them. She crossed her arms across her chest and mused over the fact that they hadn't had a honeymoon. Apparently it seemed almost unfathomable to her, judging by her facial expression and tone of voice when she spoke.

"No honeymoon?" She asked.

"Life was a little too busy for it," Daryl said. "We always meant to take a honeymoon. Just—never really got around to it."

"And this is where you brought her for breakfast?" Hailey asked. "On your honeymoon?" Daryl sucked his teeth at her. The expression on her face—one that told him she was enjoying having the chance to give someone a good-natured hard time—reminded him of the Sophia's expression when she was engaged in just such an activity.

"Hell no," Daryl responded. "This ain't the first breakfast. I didn't spare no expense on the first breakfast." He smirked at Carol across the table who was, just as much as Hailey, waiting to hear his explanation. "Hell—that first breakfast? It was damn near no-holds barred. And I even let her make it in her pajamas."

Daryl accepted the playful swat that he got from Hailey's order pad and shrugged his shoulders at Carol when the young woman walked away, still laughing at the both of them.

"You're an asshole," Carol declared.

"Some things don't never change," Daryl responded. You gonna share them waffles or you really ordered 'em all for you?"

"I really ordered them all for me," Carol said. "But—I can share them. I don't need to eat all of this. This vacation—it's going to send me home well-done and fifteen pounds heavier."

"And it all looks good on you," Daryl said. "Keep 'em," he said, when Carol tried to offer him one of her waffles. "You eat 'em. I got plenty here." She tried again and, wishing he hadn't said anything at all about them to begin with, Daryl finally accepted half of one of her waffles to satisfy her that she was feeding him well enough. For a few moments, both of them focused on their food, but Daryl couldn't help but keep running over the interaction with the waitress in his mind. "You know—I didn't even think about the honeymoon thing until I said it."

Carol looked confused, but she quickly caught up with what he was talking about.

"What about it?" Carol asked.

"That we ain't never took no real proper honeymoon," Daryl said.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"What were we going to do, Daryl?" Carol asked. "We had Sophia. It wasn't like we could run away for a week and just _leave_ her."

"Didn't say there was nothing we could do about it," Daryl responded. "Just—that I didn't think about it."

"We took that weekend," Carol said. "That was kind of a honeymoon. Don't you remember?"

Daryl laughed to himself. He shook his head.

"No," he admitted. "No—I don't remember what the hell you're talkin' about."

"That weekend," Carol said. "Don't you remember? That weekend that—Merle and Andrea? They kept Sophia for the weekend. We went up to—we went up to that lake. Some friend of Merle's owned that little place? We went up there for the weekend."

Daryl thought about it a moment and then it struck him. He couldn't remember the trip in great detail, and in fact he could almost believe that he was just making up what he did remember, but some of it came flooding back to him.

"Yeah," he said. "Who was it owned that place?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"That was you and Merle," Carol said. "I don't know where it was. I just know Andrea and Merle kept Sophia because—because Sophia got sick and we had to come home. Andrea called me crying because Sophia was sick and she didn't want to interrupt our _honeymoon_ but she was terrified that something was really wrong."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"How they didn't kill they own kids is beyond me," he commented.

"It wasn't Andrea's fault that Sophia got sick," Carol said. "Merle's either. You know as well as I do that children just—get sick."

"And Sophia could catch something like she was wrapped in two-sided duct tape," Daryl said. "Between her gettin' sick and—and Dallas breaking damn near every bone in his body twice, we paid for the houses of just about every doctor in town." Carol laughed at him, but she knew it was true. She knew it was true probably better than Daryl did. He'd gotten numerous phone calls about flus, pneumonia, common colds, and emergency room visits. And, under the rose-colored guise of everything being just fine, he'd never stopped to think about the fact that it was Carol that was up with those children, walking the floors at night and being the giver of nasty tasting medicine, without much help at all from him. "You done a helluva job keeping all of 'em alive," Daryl commented.

"You didn't do so bad yourself," Carol said. "Although—as happy as I am that they all made it. I'm glad that they've got a little more claim to fame than sheer survival."

"I can't believe I never took you on a real honeymoon," Daryl said.

"Honestly?" Carol said, speaking around a bite of her waffle. "I never missed it. But this? This has been a pretty good honeymoon. Even if it's—thirty some odd years late."

Daryl hummed at her.

"This is just the beginning," he said. "You ain't seen nothing yet. I know places. I've seen places. And I'ma show you every single one of 'em. Every single place you might wanna see." Carol raised her eyebrows at him and he nodded his head at her. "I am," he said. "That's what I'm gonna do for you."

She smiled at him.

"And I'm going to show you," Carol said, pausing a moment while she considered what the rest of her statement might be, " _real_ family dinners. The kind of family dinners where—not everybody gets along. And not everybody is—not everybody is everybody else's biggest fan. And I'm going to show you...leaky shower faucets and Andrea and me trying to go behind Merle and fix all of his quick fixes. I'm going to show you—middle of the night phone calls to solve problems that you didn't even know you could _have_ in the middle of the night."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"The real stuff?" He asked.

Carol nodded at him.

"The real stuff," she said.

"Good," Daryl said. "Because—you gotta share that world with me now. Your world. _Our_ world. Hell—the world I thought existed weren't real. Most of it's just—memory. Like a daydream. So you gotta let me into yours. You gotta let me—come on and live in your world. I gotta share your life. _Our_ life."

Carol hummed.

"I have to warn you," she said. "This life? My life or—or our life? It isn't very exciting."

"But I'm damn excited for it," Daryl said. Carol smiled at him sincerely. She reached her hand across the table at him and he put down his knife to respond by taking her hand in his.

"Me too," Carol said. "I can honestly say—I'm getting really excited about it too."

"No more hiding it from me?" Daryl pressed. "Nothing?"

Carol shook her head.

"No more hiding," she said. She took her hand back and picked at her bacon. Daryl returned to his eggs, but he looked up when he heard her make a low humming sound. She raised her eyebrow at him when she knew that he was looking at her. "Well," she said, "maybe just a touch more hiding. For a couple more days? As long as—we're hiding together."

Daryl smiled at her.

"I'll hide with you anytime," he promised. "Here—take some of this sausage. You don't balance all that sugar out with some protein? You'll pass out on me later and we got a lot on our list to do today."


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: This is the wrap up chapter to this little story.**

 **Thanks to all of you who have read it and supported me through writing it. It was just a little short something that I had stuck in my head and wanted to get out. I've enjoyed writing it and I hope that you've enjoyed reading it!**

 **I hope you enjoy the last chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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The morning started in a flurry of activity. As soon as Carol's eyes opened, she hit the ground running. Daryl rolled, meaning to catch her as soon as he heard her start to stir, but he'd only ended up with her pillow to hug as he watched her from the bed. She showered, dressed, and combed her short curls with her fingers while she walked around the bedroom and stuffed items that would go back into their house into bags. She left the bedroom to start coffee, wash a few dishes that remained in the sink, and then she returned to the bedroom with her arms overflowing with other items she'd collected to stuff into the bags that they'd carry into the house. She only stopped a moment to offer Daryl a kiss when she realized he was awake and then she was back at it again, creating jobs for herself where Daryl would have thought there were no jobs to be found.

Daryl had seen her genuinely happy on this trip, but she was genuinely happy, as well, now that they were going home.

When he got out of bed, and to save Carol a little of the energy that she was already burning through, Daryl made up the bed that he'd just left. It wasn't perfect, and he knew that she'd come back around to straighten the sheets and blankets later, but at least it was better than simply leaving the bed unmade and sending her the message that he expected her to take care of all the little domestic tasks that had to be done to start their day. Then he slipped into the kitchen and served the coffee she'd started, fixing hers up just the way that he knew she liked it, while she fumbled around in the refrigerator.

"What are you even doin'?" Daryl asked. "Do you know?"

"I'm figuring out what to make for breakfast," Carol said. "Figuring out what we can make without having to make a run to the store."

"I could pick up whatever you want," Daryl offered. "While you're—doin' whatever it is that you're doing."

"We're going home in a few hours," Carol said. "I don't want to buy anything else. We're going to be taking a ton of food in the house as it is."

"We could go out to breakfast," Daryl offered. "Run over to that pancake house? Just across the highway? You already dressed and it ain't gonna take me no time to throw somethin' on. Then you ain't even gotta make nothing. Cut down on washin' the dishes too."

Carol closed the refrigerator like the decision had been made, so Daryl abandoned his coffee cup and started around her to go and grab something he could wear to breakfast. She caught his arm, though, as he passed by her and stopped him. The first thing she did was square off with him and give him a kiss of such a caliber that it caught him off guard, and then, a smirk on her face at his surprise, she kneaded his shoulder muscles in her hand and shook her head at him.

"I don't want to go out to breakfast," she said. "I want—to _make_ breakfast. And I want us to sit and eat it and drink our coffee. And then? We pack up everything else that we need to get packed up, load up the car, and we head home."

Daryl reached his hands down and caught Carol's hips. Standing like that, in the somewhat cramped space the RV allowed them in the passageway between the kitchen and the bedroom, he could easily hold her against him. When he pulled her into him, she didn't fight him. She simply adjusted her feet and stood in the new position wearing the same half-smile on her lips.

"We could just—renew our slot," Daryl said. "Stay here another week. Another two weeks. Just—don't tell nobody where we are. Hide out here and—just keep doin' us. Just doing what we doing."

Carol raised her eyebrows at him.

"We could," she agreed. "Or—we could have breakfast, pack everything up, and head _home_."

Daryl pretended to be carefully considering what she'd said. He fought against the urge to smile at her and mirror her expression.

"I think I like my idea better," Daryl said. "We got no jobs now. No reason to go. There ain't no rush to get anywhere."

"Except—Daryl, our children might be grown up, but they still need us," Carol said. "I told them not to call unless it was an absolute _emergency_. That means that—short of possible death? They weren't going to call. But you can bet they've been collecting mini emergencies since we left. There's always something. They're grown-ups, but they still need some guidance. They still need some help navigating everything. I get phone calls from—how do you know potatoes are done to...which one of these credit cards sounds like a better choice. And-Andrea? Daryl, she and I have a therapy session at least every other day on the phone and that's if she can't come over. We just—put it all out there. The things that we need to say but we'd never dream of saying it to our husbands. To our children. She'll practically be chewing through her fingernails waiting for me to call and say I'm back."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"So what you're sayin' is, we can't run away because too damn many people need you," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head.

"I've built a life where I'm _very_ needed," Carol said. "And—I wouldn't trade that for the world."

"Not even to spend time with me?" Daryl asked. "Not even when I need you?"

"You've always got me," Carol said. "You always have. And now you're going to have me more than—more than you've ever had me before. Day and night and—whatever falls in between. But we can't hide out at the beach forever. There's this whole busy, crazy, _wonderful_ , boring life waiting on me that you haven't seen yet. And it's about time that you got in there and you got your feet wet. It's waiting on you too, now."

Daryl sucked in a breath and held it. There was a strange sense of anxiety and anticipation inside of him. It was the same feeling he'd felt before their first date. It was the same feeling he'd had before their first kiss and before the first time they were ever intimate together when he knew—he just _knew_ —that was the night that Carol wasn't going to send him home with nothing more than a goodnight kiss. It was the same feeling he'd had before he asked her to marry him and before they'd said "I do." It was the feeling that came with each of the times that Carol had showed him a plastic stick that declared that they were about to be responsible for yet another human being that would be entering the world.

It was the feeling of something new starting. It was the feeling of something coming that he knew would be terrifying but, at the same time, more amazing than he could even imagine.

It was the feeling of standing on an edge and looking toward a new life.

Or just a brand new start in a life already lived.

Today they would go home. They'd unpack and they'd have dinner in their home together. They'd answer phone calls and recount every piece of their trip that they were willing to share with others at least three or four times over. Then, tonight, they'd sleep in their bed knowing full well that the morning would hold much of the same old thing with a touch of the new.

And they would do it all together.

"You got room for me in all that?" Daryl asked.

"More than enough," Carol said. She leaned forward and gently pecked his lips. The soft kiss, even more so than the more passionate one before, sent shivers through Daryl's body. Carol must have felt them, too, because she laughed quietly and repeated the action. "I've always kept room for you. I've just been waiting for the time to come when you could step in and fill it."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"I'm lookin' forward to that," he said. "You and me? Maybe we go—visit the kids? Finally get that sewing room made out of one of the bedrooms that you wanted?"

Carol smiled and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Clean out the garage?" She asked. "Fix it so that we could—actually use it as a garage?"

"Hell," Daryl mused, "we really got a lot to do."

Carol nodded her head and gave him the best serious expression that she could for the moment.

"We do," she said. "There's a lot of stuff that's been put off for a very long time."

"Get started on that as soon as we get home," Daryl said.

"We should," Carol agreed.

Daryl smirked at her.

"Guess that means—we oughta head for home soon," he said.

She pursed her lips at him and nodded again.

"Maybe—right after breakfast?" She asked.

"Yeah," Daryl said, quickly agreeing. "Maybe right after breakfast."

"You go get dressed and I'll—I'll get breakfast going, OK?" Carol said. Daryl nodded at her and this time it was him who leaned in for a kiss. Carol playfully offered him her cheek and he kissed it before he caught her face and held it so that he could kiss her properly. She smiled at him, interrupting his efforts, and he let her go for the moment. She swatted at him, her hand making full contact on his ass with a pop. "Go get dressed! I'm not telling you again!" She scolded.

"I'ma get dressed," Daryl said, heading into the bedroom to do just that. "And then? While you cookin' breakfast? I'ma get the calendar out and sit down with it. I'ma start putting on it all the things we gotta do. Make us up a schedule from now at least until Christmas. And then? I'ma figure out when in there we're goin' to the mountains. We ain't missin' the leaves changing this year. Find us a good camping place. Start calling around and figure out what we wanna do up there. How we wanna fill a week or two."

"We haven't even finished one vacation and you're already planning another," Carol responded, returning for a moment to dig through the refrigerator and plan her attack on breakfast.

"You damn right," Daryl said. "Spent a lotta time just sayin' shit was gonna happen one day. Take that honeymoon one day. Fix you up a place to do crafts and shit one day. Clean out the garage and get me a place to tinker around one day. Do all this shit one day. Well—looks like the one day's finally come. Ain't no better day than today. And you an' me? We got a helluva lotta livin' to do. Better get started."

Carol leaned against the wall and smiled at him.

"I guess that means I better make a pretty impressive breakfast," she said. "If it's going to get us through all of that."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "Better make sure it's got some protein to it. We gonna both need all the damn energy we can get."


End file.
